


The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker

by elizabeth_hoot (anghraine)



Series: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/elizabeth_hoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly before her death, Padmé Amidala gives birth to two daughters. The eldest, Lucy, grows up in quiet obscurity on Tatooine -- until the Empire comes to call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Padmé screamed.

Bail Organa closed his eyes. It didn’t feel right, watching her give birth like this, as if she were an exhibit in a zoo. No, it was worse than that: stark walls, cold, shining metal, no life or colour anywhere, nothing but the impersonal murmurs of the droids.  

Not a zoo at all. A museum. There might as well have been a plaque beneath the pane. _Widow of the Republic_. No known creator, but one of the finest examples of early Imperial art. Modeled by Senator Amidala of Naboo.

No, it shouldn’t be like that. Padmé was Padmé, vibrant and alive and _herself_ , not just a -- a sacrificial vessel of the Force. It wasn’t right. Somebody should stay with her. Hold her hand. Something.

He glanced at the others. Yoda appeared very much as usual, but Obi-Wan was half-covering his face. Guilt? Shame, at any rate. No surprise there. He’d raised Skywalker, and if he weren’t exactly Padmé’s friend, he’d cared for her, in his way.

A medical droid stepped forward. “We need to operate on her quickly if we are to save the babies.”

Bail’s jaw dropped. “ _Babies?”_

“She’s carrying twins.”

“Save them, we must,” said Yoda. “They are our last hope.”

Obi-Wan drew his breath sharply, and followed the droid through the door, taking Padmé’s hand. It was something, anyway.

Another voice joined Padmé’s, another scream. Bail’s eyes jerked down to the baby in the droid’s arms, its body a splash of life against the cold sterility of the room.

“It’s a girl,” the droid remarked indifferently.

“Lucy,” said Padmé, her eyes distant.  

An odd name, Bail thought. Not Nubian. Nobody knew where Anakin Skywalker had come from, but he’d have wagered his diplomatic immunity that a girl named _Lucy Skywalker_ wouldn’t draw any attention there.

Three minutes later, a second infant Skywalker burst into the galaxy, shrieking even more than loudly than the first.  

“Another girl,” said the droid.

“. . . and Leia,” Padmé whispered.

When they joined Padmé, finally, she was clutching her younger daughter and trying to smile. Her colourless lips hardly moved. Exsanguination, he thought automatically. It had to be. She must have hemorrhaged as they watched her, bleeding out in this comfortless room --

Obi-Wan stood helplessly beside her bed. Somebody had given the elder girl to him, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with her. Padmé’s hand twitched and she gasped something that Bail couldn’t hear.

Then she was dead.

Without hesitation, Bail snatched the baby out of her limp arms. Leia howled for Padmé and her sister whimpered.

“Strong in the Force they are. Too strong, perhaps,” muttered Yoda, and nodded at Lucy.  “This one especially.”

Later, as they flew to Theed, he said: “Hidden, safe, they must be kept.”

“We must take them someplace where the Sith will not sense their presence,” added Obi-Wan.

“Split up, they should be.”

Bail blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would take the twins to anyone _other_ thanPadmé’s family. Skywalker might not have had any -- well, naturally he hadn’t, he was a Jedi -- but she had. There was a sister, parents, uncles and aunts, cousins, nieces. But of course Palpatine would know who had fathered Padmé’s children, and Naboo was his homeworld. If he could sense them, it would be the worst possible place for them. Yet --

Bail felt the highest regard for Grandmaster Yoda and General Kenobi. He always had. But he didn’t like the way they looked at Padmé’s daughters, as if they were their hope and salvation. He didn’t like any of it. Force-sensitive or not, these girls deserved better lives than their mother’s. Than their _father’s._

 _Split up_ , he thought, and _Lucy’s stronger, they’ll never let go of her, but Leia --_

The words were out of his mouth before he knew he had spoken them.

“My wife and I will take the younger girl. We’ve always talked of adopting a baby girl,” he said, and hesitated. “She will be loved with us.”

“And what of the elder?” asked Obi-Wan.

Yoda sighed. “To Tatooine. To her family, send her.”

So Skywalker did have family: or relatives, at any rate. On _Tatooine._ No wonder he'd never talked about it -- the entire population were little more than slaves of the Hutts. Now he’d enslaved himself more securely than any Hutt could imagine, and his firstborn child was being sent back to whatever hellhole he’d clawed his way out of.

Bail walked over to the cribs and stared down at Lucy Skywalker’s sleeping face. _I’m sorry I can’t save you from this,_ he thought. _I’m sorry I can’t even try._

Lucy stirred, already restless, and Leia began to scream.

  


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy dropped her binoculars.

“I saw a battle up there,” she said, scowling. “I _did_.”

“It was probably a freighter tanker refueling,” said Biggs, and smiled down at her. “Don’t mind Camie. I can see nothing much has changed here.”

“It never does. But why are you back so soon? Didn’t you get your commission?”

He pretended to look horrified. “Of course I got it! First mate Biggs Darklighter, at your service. I just came to say goodbye to all you unfortunate landlocked simpletons. And what about you? Still fighting with your uncle?”

“Always,” she said, laughing. “I was flying the skyhopper the other day and busted it up pretty bad going through the Needle. Uncle Owen grounded me for the rest of the season. It was _fantastic._ ”

A line appeared between Biggs’ brows. “You ought to take it easy, Lucy.”

“What?”

“You’re good, better than good, but those little skyhoppers are dangerous. Keep it up and one day -- wham! -- you’re going to be nothing more than a dark spot on the down side of a canyon wall.”

Lucy grinned. “You’re starting to sound like my uncle. You’ve gotten soft in the city!”

“I . . .” For the first time, his air of sophistication seemed slightly artificial. Biggs stared at his polished boots, shifting his weight back and forth.

She stared at him until he managed to meet her eyes.

“I’ve missed you, Lucy.”

Lucy flushed. “Well -- things haven’t been the same since you left,” she said hastily. “It’s been so . . . quiet.”

Biggs’ manner became outright surreptitious. He glanced over his shoulder suspiciously, as if expecting to find a blaster pointed at his back, then took a step closer to the girl. “Lucy,” he whispered, “I didn’t just come to say goodbye.”

She looked uncomfortable, but held her ground. “You didn’t?”

“No. I shouldn’t tell you this, but -- you’re the only one I can trust, and -- and if I don’t come back, I want somebody to know why.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I made some friends at the Academy.” He dropped his voice still further. “When our frigate goes to one of the central systems, we’re going to jump ship and join the Alliance.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped.

“I have a friend who . . . has a friend, on Bestine, who might help us make contact.”

“You’re crazy,” Lucy hissed. “You could wander around forever trying to find them!”

“I know it’s a long shot,” Biggs said, “but if I don’t find them, I’ll do what I can on my own. It’s what we always talked about, Lucy.”

“When we were kids!”

He grinned, draping his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not going to wait for the Empire to draft me into service,” he said firmly.  “The Rebellion is spreading and I want to be on the right side. The side I believe in.”

Lucy couldn’t help but return his smile, though her voice was sharp. “So would I.”

Biggs flinched.

“I’m lucky just to get this far from home,” she added. “There’s been a lot of unrest among the Sand People. Uncle Owen hardly lets me or Aunt Beru out of the house these days. They’ve even raided the outskirts of Anchorhead.”

“Your uncle could hold off a whole colony of Sand People with one blaster,” he said. “Look, if there’s anything I can do to help -- ”

Lucy tilted her head back to look at him. “I have to get out of here, Biggs. I want to apply to the Academy.”

“The Academy! But they don’t let women in.”

“They do sometimes, if you’re good enough. There’s an admiral -- ”

“Only if you know people.”

She fell silent, scuffing the dirt with her boot. “I know,” she said glumly.

“But you’ve got to do something, or you’ll go mad. Does your uncle think he’ll be able to keep you in that house forever?”

“Yes,” said Lucy simply. “At least until I get married.”

“Married!” Biggs gaped at her. “You, _ married? _ But -- but you’re not even eighteen!”

He didn’t say what they both knew: that one of the local men might choose a young wife, but it certainly wouldn’t be that strange, angry Skywalker girl with her nose in her datapad and her head in the clouds.  

Lucy shrugged.

“ He really hopes you’ll marry someone here?”

“I think he was hoping I’d marry  _ you _ ,” she said, cheering up.  

Biggs gulped. “Uh -- ”

“Until you went off to the Academy, of course. He hasn’t mentioned it since, so you don’t have anything to worry about.  Except getting killed by Imperials.” She felt a flicker of envy and laughed. “I’d give my right arm to worry about that!”

He ruffled her blonde hair. “I’m not worried about them. My father might kill me, though. Or your uncle!”

“Uncle Owen just wants what’s best for me,” she said, with a distinct lack of conviction, and slapped his hand away.

Biggs sobered. “Probably. But you’ll never get off this rock if he has his way.”

Lucy knew that. She’d overheard enough to have a very good idea of what her uncle wanted for her. A nice, quiet, soul-crushing life on his farm, and then someone else’s. After that, there’d be a family, and she could never get out.  _ We have to keep her safe _ , he said. From what?  

He always brought up her grandmother, but Shmi had been a farmer’s wife just like he wanted Lucy to be, and that hadn’t saved her. Aunt Beru had told her the whole story. There wouldn’t even have been a body to bury, if not for her father’s nerve and daring. Far better to live and die as he had -- not safe, but free -- than to disappear into the sand like her grandmother.

She looked back at Biggs. “Are you going to be around long?”

“No. I’m leaving in the morning.”

“That early?” She blinked several times. “Then I guess I won’t see you.”

“Maybe -- someday --” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Who knows what could happen? I’ve been keeping up with the races, and there isn’t a pilot in the Outer Rim that can touch you.”

Lucy blushed and looked away. “I’m all right. I haven’t tried anything  _ really  _ hard, though.”

“Depends who’s talking! You never taught me that trick you used to shoot down those womp rats.” With a sigh, Biggs stepped back. “If you ever get out of here, I don’t think you’ll be hard to find. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Take care of yourself, Biggs.” Lucy forced herself to smile, lifting her eyes to his. “You’ll always be the best friend I’ve got.”

He was silent for a moment, lips pressed tightly together.

“So long, Lucy,” he said finally, the words almost inaudible, and turned on his heel, hurrying back to the power station.  

Lucy watched him go, the material of her skirt crumpling under her fingers. In that moment, she hated it -- hated the thick homespun fabric brushing her ankles, hated the weight of the hair piled on her head, hated even her small breasts and hips, hated everything keeping her here while Biggs ran off to the Rebellion.

Not that it changed anything.  Lucy sighed, trudging back to the landspeeder, and returned to her uncle’s homestead.

  


* * *

Several days later, Lucy sat at the kitchen table, trying to fix their reconstitutor, while Beru kneaded dough for the next week’s bread.

“This isn’t fair!”

“It’s not a droid, Lucy,” said Beru, her mouth twitching. “You can’t argue with it.”

Lucy slammed her hydrospanner on the table. “I’m not talking about this! It’s -- it’s  _ everything!  _ Fixer and Biggs can do whatever they want. They all can! Nobody even cares where Camie goes. Biggs himself always said I was a better pilot than any of them, but he’s the first lieutenant on a  _ starship  _ and I’m still here and I can’t get out and -- ”

“Ah. Biggs.” Beru gave her a shrewd look. “His mother mentioned that he stopped by to visit his family. Did you see him at the station?”

“For a few minutes. He just wanted to say goodbye, before he -- went away.” To join the Alliance! If  _ Biggs  _ wanted to risk his life for what he thought was right, nobody could stop him. And there were rumours the Rebels had won a battle. They might even have a chance. But it wouldn’t change anything for Lucy.  

“I’m sorry,” Beru said gently. “I know how much he means to you, Lucy; it’s natural to be upset.”

“I’m not -- !”

Lucy forced herself to take a deep breath. It wasn’t Beru’s fault. Every freedom she had could probably be chalked up to her aunt’s influence. But that didn’t mean --

“He’s my best friend and I’ll miss him.” Lucy picked the spanner up again and went back to work, just managing to keep her hands steady. “But that’s not why I’m  _ upset._”

With one quick, discerning glance, Beru seemed to understand. “He said more than goodbye, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Lucy twisted the spanner and a bolt fell into her other hand, staining her fingers. “Eurgh, what’s all this gunk? No wonder you’ve been having problems with it. Where’s the rag?”

“By the sink. I’d get it for you, but -- ”

“No, it’s fine.” She fetched the rag and returned to her chair, scrubbing at the machine.

“You were talking about the Darklighter boy, Lucy.”

Lucy’s gaze rose to meet her aunt’s, then skittered away. “Biggs told me he’s been keeping on eye on the records. For the races, I mean. He says that none of them come close to flying as well as I do. All those people spending their lives doing it, making  _ money  _ at it, and I’m stuck here even though I’m better than all of them. I can’t even apply to the Academy. It’s not fair!” She squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to stop burning, and opened them again. “It’s  _ not fair _ , Aunt Beru. It just isn’t, and nothing you say can convince me it is.”

“I wasn’t going to try,” said Beru.

Lucy blinked.  “You weren’t?”

“Sweetheart, I know it’s not fair. You should be able to compete in the races, or start a career in the Academy, or join a freighter crew, if that’s what makes you happy.”

“Like Father,” Lucy said, her face lighting up.  

Beru looked half-affectionate, half-alarmed, as she always did when anyone mentioned Lucy’s father. “Yes,” she said thickly, “like your father. You’re -- very like him, Lucy. I know you can’t be happy here, any more than he could. But we want more for you than what he had, and you’re still so young.”

“I’m  _ seventeen! _ ”  

Beru laughed. “I know.  It’s a difficult enough age without being cooped up with an ancient creature like me.”

“You’re not old, Aunt Beru,” Lucy said impatiently. “It’s just that my friends have all left now, and since Uncle Owen doesn’t want me working in the fields, it’s not like I’m much help around the farm anyway. I know you’re just trying to protect me, but I can’t stay like this. I --”

A door slammed open and heavy booted footsteps approached. Lucy’s mouth snapped shut.

“There’s some Jawas outside selling droids,” Owen said. “I could use one to help with the vaporators. Can we afford it?”

Beru considered.

“We got a good price on last week’s barrels,” said Lucy.

“Then we could get more than one?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Beru told him. “Buy two, if you can bargain them down.”

“All right.” Owen’s eyes fell on the appliance on his niece’s lap. “Can you get that working again, Lucy?”

“There’s just some junk in the machinery. I should have it fixed in a few minutes.”

He nodded and returned outside. Beru finished kneading the dough and Lucy, cleaning the reconstitutor. She turned it on to make sure it was working again.

Beru jumped.

“Sorry, Aunt Beru.” Lucy fumbled for the switch.  

“No, it’s not that.  I’ve just remembered that if we get a translator, it needs to speak Bocce.  Make sure your uncle knows, will you?”  

“Sure.”  

Lucy sprang up and ran outside, easily catching up with Owen and passing on the message. He stopped by a bright gold protocol droid.

“What I really need is a droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators.”

“Vaporators!” cried the droid. “Sir, my first job was programming binary load lifters -- very similar to your vaporators. You could say -- ”

“Do you speak Bocce?”

“Of course I can, sir,” the droid said eagerly. “It’s like a second language for me! I’m as fluent in Bocce as -- ”

“All right, shut up,” Owen snapped, and turned to the Jawa leader.  “I’ll take this one and -- that one.” He gestured at a red astrodroid.

The Jawa chattered something in reply, and Owen sighed.

“Lucy, take these over to the garage, will you?  I want you to have both of them cleaned before dinner.”

She scowled, then nodded and led them away, pausing only when the red droid began to spark wildly.

“Uncle Owen!” Lucy called out. “This unit has a bad motivator, look.”

The protocol droid tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am, but that R2 unit -- ” he pointed at another astrodroid, this one white with blue markings -- “is in prime condition. A real bargain!”

With little further ado, the astrodroids were exchanged.  

“I’m quite sure you’ll be very pleased with that one,” the protocol droid said, its intonation distinctly fussy. “He really is in first-class condition. I’ve worked with him before. Here he comes.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Lucy said briskly, and led them off to the garage. It only took her a moment to prepare an oil bath for the protocol droid and a battery for the little astrodroid.  

“Thank the Maker!” cried the former, his delight very nearly human. Lucy managed a weak smile as she slumped into her chair.  

She’d always liked the garage. If any room could be considered Lucy’s, it would be this one. It had felt peaceful and friendly, and nobody else ever spent much time there. But now, the quiet punctuated only by the chatter of droids, the low-hung ceilings, the monotonous grey of the paint, it all felt daunting, somehow, and bleak. The walls seemed to close in on her.

“It just isn’t fair!” Lucy said again, and felt almost overcome by desperation. She had to escape, had to do  _ something _ , but -- “Biggs is right. I’m never going to get out of here.”

“Is there anything I might do to help?”

She glanced up at the protocol droid and a reluctant smile crept onto her face. “Not unless you can teleport me off this rock!”

“I don’t think so, ma'am. I’m only a droid and not very knowledgeable about such things,” he said apologetically. “Not on this planet, anyways. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure which planet I’m on.”

“If there’s a bright center of the universe,” Lucy muttered, “you’re on the planet that it’s furthest from.”

“I see, miss.”

“You can call me Lucy,” she told him.

“I see, Miss Lucy.”

Lucy burst out laughing. “No, just Lucy,” she said, and made her way over to the other droid, spanner in hand.

“ _I_ am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations, and this is my counterpart, R2-D2.”

She bit back another laugh and waved the spanner at the little astrodroid she was repairing. “Hello,” she told it dryly, and received a cheerful beep in response.

Lucy took out a pick, scraping at the black marks on Artoo’s casing.

“You’ve got a lot of carbon scoring here,” she said aloud. “It looks like you two have seen a lot of action!”

Everyone had, apparently, except  _ her. _

“With all we’ve been through, sometimes I’m amazed we’re in as good condition as we are!” replied Threepio, sounding as petulant as any robot could. Whoever had constructed him deserved credit for verisimilitude, at least. “What with the Rebellion and all.”

Lucy whirled around. “You know of the Rebellion against the Empire? Have you been in many battles?” she cried.  

Visions of starships and lasers and explosions danced before her eyes. Revolutions, fighter pilots, battles, it all seemed impossibly fantastic. But it had touched her life already. She could still hear Biggs whispering in her ear, explaining how he was going to give up everything to find the elusive Rebels and join them.

“Several, I think,” Threepio said, his voice even more tragic than usual, then inexplicably added, “there’s not much to tell. I’m not much more than an interpreter, and not very good at telling stories.”

Lucy sighed and went back to Artoo, poking at a small metal fragment embedded in his casing.

“Well,” she said, “you’ve got something jammed in here real good. Were you on a cruiser, or -- ”

The fragment snapped loose, sending Lucy tumbling backwards. She sat up, and a twelve-inch hologram appeared before her eyes.  

Lucy’s mouth dropped open.

The person in the hologram was a girl of about her own age, clad in a light, cowled robe, her hair coiled over her ears.  With a pleading look, the girl reached out her hand.

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said.  “You’re my only hope.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lucy rocked back on her heels, gaping. “What’s this?” she cried.

The astrodroid somehow managed to look sheepish, and beeped.

“What is _what?_ ” Threepio said indignantly. “She asked you a question! What is _that?_ ”

The girl in the hologram crouched, reaching one hand out. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope,” she said. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope. Help me -- ”

Artoo beeped again.

“Oh, he says it’s nothing, ma’am,” said Threepio. “Merely a malfunction. Old data. Pay it no mind.”

Lucy sat back, considering the unknown girl. “Who is she? She looks so pretty and -- and helpless.”

“Er,” Threepio said. “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure, ma’am. I think she was a passenger on our last voyage. A person of some importance, miss. I believe.”

The recording continued to repeat itself. It seemed obviously incomplete -- perhaps it had been damaged in some way. No surprise, considering Artoo’s state. But there was enough to win Lucy’s sympathy. She watched the hologram cycle through the message again, unable to miss the pleading and desperation in the girl’s low voice.

Somebody had to do something, she thought, feeling as if she had become infected with the other girl’s urgency. Lucy didn’t know what any of this was about. She didn’t know the girl. But somehow, that didn’t seem to matter. She _had_ to help her.

Besides, hadn’t she longed for something to do? Something important? And now, this had all but fallen in her lap.

Threepio was still talking.

“Is there any more of this recording?” Lucy asked abruptly. She reached towards Artoo, and he let out a frantic squeal.

“Behave yourself, Artoo. You’re going to get us into trouble!” Threepio hissed. Lucy bit back a smile. “It’s all right, you can trust her. She’s our new mistress!”

The astrodroid gave a long string of beeps and whistles.

“He says he’s the property of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a resident of these parts. And it’s a private message for him.”

Lucy tilted her head to the side.  

“Quite frankly, miss,” Threepio said, “I don’t know what he’s talking about. Our last master was Captain Antilles, but with what we’ve been through, this little R2 unit has become a bit eccentric.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder if he means old Ben Kenobi?”

She knew old Ben -- not well, but probably as well as anyone did. Years ago, she and Biggs had gotten lost in the desert, and it had been old Ben who found them and brought them home. She’d spoken to him once when she snuck off to Anchorhead, too -- he happened to be passing through and didn’t tell her aunt and uncle about it, which was enough to win her childish approval.  

They’d happened across each other a few other times, too, in the ordinary course of things. But he was just a normal -- well, just an _odd_ old man. She couldn’t believe that Ben’s family could get caught up in something like this. She couldn’t believe that he had family at all.

Threepio turned towards her hopefully. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but do you know what he’s talking about?”

“Well, I don’t know anyone named _Obi-Wan_ ,” Lucy said, getting to her feet and searching through her tools, “but old Ben lives out beyond the Dune Sea. He’s a kind of strange old hermit.”

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi --”

“I wonder who she is,” Lucy said, glancing back down at the hologram. Again, she felt that inexplicable rush of concern and determination.  “It sounds like she’s in trouble.”

Lucy looked into the girl’s frantic dark eyes, and set her jaw. “I’d better play back the whole thing,” she decided, and stalked over to Artoo. He gave a high, robotic wail.

“He says the restraining bolt has short-circuited his recording system,” Threepio told her. Lucy sighed, looking back at the hologram.  

 _I have to save her. I don’t know why, but I have to. If I don’t, something horrible’s going to happen to her, I just know it is._

She tried to ignore the feeling that something horrible was going to happen anyway.

Threepio said something about removing the restraining bolt.

“Hm?” Lucy looked back at the droids, and grabbed a small bar off the table. “Well, I guess you’re too small to run away on me if I take this off. Okay.”

It was the work of a moment to wedge the bolt off. “There you go!” she said, and glanced down.

The hologram had disappeared.

“Where’d it go? Bring it back -- play back the entire message!”

Artoo’s beep managed to sound innocent, curious, and bewildered at the same time. Lucy glared and Threepio turned furiously on his companion.

“What message?” he cried. “The one you’re carrying inside your rusty innards!”

Lucy opened her mouth to snarl at the little astrodroid, then shut it when she heard her aunt calling from another room.

“Lucy? Lucy! Come to dinner!”

“All right. I’ll be right there, Aunt Beru!” Lucy shouted back, and shook her head.  

Threepio turned towards her, his voice sounding fretful even for him. “I’m sorry, miss,” he said miserably, “but he seems to have picked up a slight flutter.”

Lucy tossed the bolt aside. “Well, see what you can do with him. I’ll be right back,” she said, and ran out.  

Artoo blinked in his companion’s general direction.

“Just you reconsider playing that message for her,” Threepio told him.

He beeped plaintively.

“No, I don’t think she likes you at all. And I don’t like you either!”

 

* * *

  
 

After dinner, Lucy stomped away from the table, then stopped in her tracks.

She hadn’t meant to pick a fight with her uncle. She never did. They just seemed to happen. It’d always been -- it wasn’t that he didn’t care about her. She knew he did, and she loved him. But they’d never been able to understand each other very well, or even to get along. He was always trying to make her into something else, as if she were a doll that could just be carved into the right shape.  And she --

Well, she knew she wasn’t the niece he would have wanted. Not that he’d wanted one at all, and she was grateful for everything he’d done.  She was just furious at the same time.

Lucy took a deep breath. She couldn’t work like this. Her hands were still shaking. Instead of returning to the garage right away, she veered right and ran outside to watch the sunset.

Biggs always said that the stars didn’t control anyone’s life, yet these ones certainly controlled hers. They seemed so near, as if she could reach beyond them with the barest modicum of effort. Instead, she felt menaced by them, hopelessness eating at her as the radiance of the twin suns faded into darkness. Something in her recoiled from the sight, ominous in a way it had never been before, but Lucy kept her eyes fixed on the two stars, wind pulling at her skirts and hair.

Tatoo II vanished below the horizon. As if it had given her permission, Lucy finally looked away, wrapping her arms around herself.

That girl needed her. _Lucy_ needed to help her, even if she didn’t know why. But how could she help anyone? How could she even get out?

She sighed and went to finish cleaning the droids.

“I can’t believe him,” she muttered to herself. “He doesn’t have to do this. He just wants to punish me! It’s not f -- ”

The garage was silent. Lucy froze, her eyes darting from corner to corner, then grabbed her control box and turned it on.

Threepio yelped, popping up from behind the skyhopper.

Lucy stared. “What are you doing back there?”

“It wasn’t my fault, ma’am!” he wailed. “Please don’t deactivate me! I told him not to go, but he’s -- he’s faulty, malfunctioning:kept babbling on about his mission.”

“Oh no,” breathed Lucy, rushing out of the garage and back outside. She grabbed her binoculars and peered all around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.  

“How could I be so stupid? He’s nowhere in sight,” she said, and let the binoculars fall. “Blast it!”

“Pardon me, miss,” Threepio said, sounding even more miserable than usual, “but couldn’t we go after him?”

Lucy was already shaking her head. “It’s too dangerous with all the Sand People around,” she said practically. “We’ll have to wait until morning.”

 _Early_ in the morning, she thought; they’d have to leave before Owen realized she was gone.

She did wait, but slept poorly, and woke as soon as possible, pulling on a tunic and one of her only pairs of pants. Last night’s lecture was more than enough for one week.  

“Lucy?” Beru glanced up as her niece rushed towards the door. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Lucy almost kept running, but her cooler side prevailed. If anything happened, Owen and Beru would need to know where she’d gone. She stopped and turned around.

“I have some things to do before we get started today,” she said vaguely.

“Well, be careful. The Sand People -- ”

“I’ll be back before breakfast. Tell Uncle Owen, will you?” Lucy kissed her aunt’s cheek and smiled at her. “I’ll be all right, I promise.”

She dashed out to the garage and picked up Threepio. Then she drove off without a backwards glance, relieved just to be flying again.

Her awkwardness on the ground always disappeared in the air. The wind, even as it pulled at a few loose tendrils of hair and screamed in her ears, was familiar, almost friendly; Lucy could feel the slightest change in the currents and respond as soon as it happened. _Before_ it happened, sometimes, but that was mostly when she was younger and less skilled.

Beyond that, she understood machines. Everything she flew seemed like an extension of herself; with her hands on a wheel and her feet on the floor of a ship, even one as slight and unimpressive as this, she felt like she could rule the galaxy. Like she already did.

Lucy took a deep breath and released it, leaving Threepio to his trivial chatter while she kept her eyes on the sand, alert for a sign of anything suspicious. She could hardly miss an astrodroid as distinctive as Artoo, she reassured herself, and it shouldn’t take long to catch up with him. After all, he could hardly _walk_ , let alone fly.

“Look, there’s a droid on the scanner!” she cried. “Dead ahead. It might be our little R2 unit. Hit the accelerator!”

Within a few minutes, they’d caught up with the droid -- definitely an R2 unit -- and she sprang out. Even with a coat of dust and grime, it was unmistakably Artoo.

“Hey, just where do you think you’re going?” said Lucy, glowering at the droid.

He gave a feeble string of beeps.

“Mistress Lucy here is your rightful owner!” Threepio exclaimed. “We’ll have no more of this Obi-Wan Kenobi gibberish!”

Artoo started to protest.

“ -- and don’t talk to _me_ about your mission! You’re fortunate she doesn’t blast you into a million pieces right here!”

Artoo gave an alarmed squawk and Lucy, turning to stare at Threepio, shook her head.

“No, no, it’s all right,” she said quickly, “but we’d better go.”

Before she could even turn back to the landspeeder, however, Artoo had started beeping again, the sounds rising to shrieks as he wobbled back and forth. Lucy gave them an exasperated look.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Oh my,” said Threepio. “Ma’am, he says there are several creatures approaching from the southeast.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. She glanced over her shoulder -- and saw nothing, but it didn’t matter. She knew what was out there.

“Sand People!” She ran to the landspeeder and grabbed her laser rifle. “Or worse.”

The rifle was one of the few pieces of machinery she’d learned to use _because_ of her uncle, not in defiance of him. He’d taught her to shoot when she was a little girl, and insisted she carry the weapon with her whenever she left the homestead. _Just in case_ , he always said.

 _Thanks, Uncle Owen_ , she thought, and returned to the droids. “Let’s go have a look,” she said briskly, then laughed when they stayed frozen in place.  “Come on!”

Carefully, Lucy threaded her way up a rocky ridge and grabbed her binoculars, scanning the canyon. She could see two enormous banthas, but neither of them had any riders.

“There are two banthas down there, but I don’t see any . . .” Lucy froze, catching a small raider at the edge of her vision. “Wait a second, they’re Sand People, all right! I can see one of them now.”

She tried to focus on the distant raider. Instead, the binoculars went dark and she looked up in alarm: a large Tusken Raider was looming over her. He howled, shaking his weapon.

Threepio backed right off the side of the cliff, bouncing and rattling on the way down; Lucy grabbed her rifle and leapt out of the way, blocking the raider’s double-pointed _gaderfii_ as well as she could. The rifle cracked.

 _Stupid, stupid --_

She was scrambling back, rolling left and right as she tried to avoid the swinging _gaderfii_ , then reaching out only to have her hands close on air.  There was nowhere left to go.  

The raider gave a cry of triumph, swinging his weapon in the air, and Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. The blow, when it came, was quick and precise, and she only managed one scream before slumping to the ground.

The Sand People dragged her back down the cliff and dropped her body near a dark alcove in the rock, while they went to ransack the landspeeder. Artoo, cowering in the back of the alcove, whirred to himself, then made small distressed sounds.

The raiders didn’t seem to hear him. Several of them began pulling strips out of the landspeeder; Artoo could only rock in anxiety, his sensors fixed on the unconscious girl in front of him.

Then, something deeper in the canyon gave a great howling moan. The raiders stiffened, dropping their salvage, and fled as an indistinct brown figure slowly approached them. Artoo rolled a little back, his sensors darting across the canyon.

The figure -- a man in a hooded brown robe -- knelt beside Lucy’s prone body, his hands dropping to her wrists. Then he reached up and pressed his fingers against her temples.

Artoo moaned.

The man turned towards him, pushing his hood off, and revealing a weathered, kindly face. He was an old man, or looked like one, with piercing blue eyes, a mop of untidy silver hair, and a small, neatly-trimmed white beard. He smiled at the little droid.

“Hello there!” he called out. Artoo trembled, emitting a low, warbling beep.

The old man gestured for him to approach.

“Come here, my little friend,” he said, and his voice gentled. “Don’t be afraid.”

Artoo’s sensors went back to Lucy. He beeped inquiringly.

“Oh, don’t worry -- she’ll be all right,” the man said. He dropped a hand on her shoulder and gave her a light shake.

The world swam before Lucy’s eyes. She groaned, struggling to sit up, only vaguely aware of the hand supporting her back.  

“Rest easy, child,” he said, with a wry look. “You’ve had a busy day -- you’re fortunate to be all in one piece!”

Lucy rubbed her neck, then blinked several times, still trying to orient herself. Her gaze landed on the old man’s face.

“Ben?” she exclaimed. “Ben Kenobi? Boy, am I glad to see you!”

At that, Artoo waddled out of the alcove as fast as his wheels would take him. Ben’s expression turned reproving.  

“The Jundland wastes are not to be travelled lightly,” he told her.  

Artoo, whose creator had evidently not seen fit to include any sense of self-preservation, gave a string of happy beeps and whistles. Lucy ignored him, clambering to her feet and leaning heavily on Ben as he helped her walk to a large rock, where she collapsed.

“Tell me, young Lucy, what brings you out so far?”

Lucy waved her hand at Artoo. “This little droid! I think he’s searching for his former master -- I’ve never seen such devotion in a droid before.” Both humans looked at him, and Artoo gave a small, sad whine. Lucy turned back to Ben. “He claims to be the property of an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Is he a relative of yours? Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Ben’s eyes widened, and something very like dread came over his face. He sank down. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he repeated, lingering on the syllables. “Obi-Wan. Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time -- a _long_ time.”

“I think my uncle knows him,” said Lucy, remembering last night’s quarrel. With a decided effort, she kept the familiar note of petulance out of her voice. “He said he was dead.”

Ben shook his head. “Oh, he’s not dead,” he said, and then his old wry look came back. “Not yet.”

“You know him?” asked Lucy, feeling that she couldn’t be surprised by anything, at this point.

“Well, of course I know him.” Ben chuckled and tapped his chest. “He’s _me!_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

Ben -- _Obi-Wan_ \-- gave her a kind smile. “I haven’t gone by the name Obi-Wan since -- ” he paused, apparently struggling to remember -- “oh, since before you were born.”

So Owen had lied to her. Maybe about other things; maybe Beru had too. That stung a little more, but somehow, Lucy wasn’t surprised. She’d always felt that they were keeping things from her -- not the ordinary things that adults kept from children, _important_ things. Owen didn’t like her asking about her father. Beru’s silences were so . . . loud.

Obviously, there was something suspicious going on, something they weren’t telling her. Now it turned out that she should have questioned the things they _had_ told her, too. Lucy scowled. She lied to her uncle all the time, but that was different. Somehow. She didn’t care that they’d just fought. She was going to demand an explanation as soon as she got the droids home.

The thought reminded her of Artoo, his strange fidelity and obstinancy, and the hologram he carried.

“Then the droid does belong to you!” she cried.

“I don’t seem to recall owning a droid.” Obi-Wan shot an incomprehensible look at him.

Artoo gave a low beep.

“Very interesting,” Obi-Wan said, more enigmatic than ever.

Apparently the raiders had hit her harder than she thought, because nothing seemed to make any sense at all. Lucy didn't even try to understand. However, when Obi-Wan suggested that her attackers would soon return, in greater numbers, Lucy gladly agreed to take shelter in his home. Her aunt and uncle would be worried, of course, but they’d understand when she explained about the Sand People.

The three of them went to recover Threepio, Artoo beeping hysterically all the while, and found him half-buried in the sand. He’d obviously suffered in his fall, and one of his arms had been torn completely off. Lucy ran forward and turned him on.

“Can you stand? We’ve got to get out of here before the Sand People return.”

“I don’t think I can make it.” In a martyred tone, he added, “You go on, Mistress Lucy. There’s no sense in you risking yourself on my account. I’m _done_ for.”

Artoo’s screeching beep required no translation.

“No, you’re not!” said Lucy indignantly. “What kind of talk is that?”

Obi-Wan had been peering around the mesa, apparently listening to something that none of the rest of them could hear. Without a moment’s hesitation, however, he helped her lift the droid into the air. “Quickly,” he said. “They’re on the move.”

They rushed to the landspeeder, which thankfully hadn’t been too damaged by the Sand People, and raced away.  Obi-Wan either couldn’t fly or didn’t care to, but his instructions were easy enough to follow. Lucy chattered idly and he glanced at her face, alight with pleasure. He stared ahead for the rest of their brief journey.

Obi-Wan’s house was more like a hut, small and bare. Nevertheless, it seemed to radiate an air of comfort and security. He helped her carry Threepio to one corner, then looked at him in some dismay.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help,” he said.  

“That’s all right -- I shouldn’t need any,” Lucy told him.  “I have my tools and I’m good with machines.”

“Yes,” murmured Obi-Wan, eyes distant. “I thought you might be.”

Lucy worked in silence for a few minutes. Then she said: “Uncle Owen says you knew my father.”

“That’s true,” Obi-Wan said. “We were friends for a very long time. I knew him even before he ever went to war.”

She looked up, startled, then laughed. “Oh, my father didn’t fight in the wars. He was a navigator on a spice freighter.”

Obi-Wan’s neutral expression was replaced by something very like horror. Belatedly, Lucy remembered that everything she knew was wrong.

“That’s what your uncle told you,” he said, his voice cooling.

Lucy suppressed a wince. It _did_ look bad, but -- Owen must have meant well. He always did, in his way. As annoying as it was to discover that he’d been lying to her for her entire life, she felt sure he’d have an explanation. Not one she liked or agreed with, but an explanation. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan seemed willing to talk to her about her father.

 _My father_ , she thought, excitement bubbling in her chest. The man who had fearlessly marched into the desert to find his mother, who had been a pilot, who had spent his short life longing for _more_ , who had left so much of himself in her that, for as long as she could remember, she’d felt like a chunk of her soul was missing.

She’d never known him, but still, she loved and idolized him. She liked to think he was still there, sometimes almost convinced herself that she could feel him looking out for her, somewhere in the distant reaches of the galaxy. But she never quite managed it; her practical side knew it was impossible. Her father was gone. Instead, she clung to the few scraps of information that her uncle and aunt doled out.

“He didn’t hold with your father’s ideals,” Obi-Wan continued. “Thought he should have stayed here, and not -- gotten involved.”

“You fought in the Clone Wars?” she said, surprised. Of course, it was twenty years ago now. He’d have been younger then. A _lot_ younger, apparently.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, chuckling. “I was a Jedi Knight, the same as your father.”

Her father, her own father, had been a knight? -- a _hero_? It was just like a story, she thought: knights, adventures, wars, and dead parents.

She sobered. “I wish I’d known him,” she said wistfully.

“He was the best starpilot in the galaxy,” Obi-Wan said, “and a cunning warrior.”

Lucy’s eyes rounded. So she _had_ gotten her love of flying from him, but he was beyond anything Owen and Beru had ever told her. Not just a pilot. The best pilot in the entire galaxy. No wonder she’d always been drawn to ships; no wonder everything had come so easily to her.

“I understand you’ve become quite a good pilot yourself,” he added, as if he’d been reading her mind. Lucy flushed and smiled a bit hesitantly. She was good, she knew that. But she was a long, long way from _the best starpilot in the galaxy_.

If he’d lived, she wouldn’t have had to fumble for competence and then skill, untaught and unable to understand what she was doing, or how she was managing it. Her father wouldn’t have just encouraged her to follow his footsteps, he’d have taught her personally. She might even have grown up on a ship.

And he’d been cunning. Rash and restless and idealistic, but maybe a little sneaky, too. Ambitious. _Like me, like me, like me_.  

Lucy turned back to Threepio and sighed. Her father, at any rate, would never have been shut up like she was, stuck with repairing machinery and putting droids back together.

“And,” Obi-Wan added, with an affectionate, wistful look, “he was a good friend.”

Lucy’s eyes burned. She kept her head turned away from him, working on Threepio with renewed vigour.

Nobody spoke for a moment, the silence thick and heavy. Then Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“Which reminds me --”

He got up and shuffled across the room, poking around in a small wooden chest while Lucy started to fit Threepio’s restraining bolt back on. The droid gave a small start, though -- uncharacteristically enough -- he said nothing.

Lucy bit her lip. She’d never much cared for restraining bolts, either in theory or reality, and this one felt somehow repulsive. Yes, droids were machines, made to serve -- but then, they shouldn’t need them. And if not, then -- well, Artoo clearly had a mind of his own, and even Threepio was as much beyond the usual soulless machines as she was beyond . . . womp-rats, or something.

The bolt in her hand was heavy and dirty. Lucy put it back on the table and Threepio’s yellow eyes gave a confused flash. She ignored him, wiping her greasy hands on her pants.  

“I have something here for you,” said Obi-Wan, turning back towards her. He had retrieved whatever he’d been looking for -- a slim metal cylinder of some kind, with three or four buttons running up one side. It looked rather like a severed handle to . . . something.

Lucy tried to look less unimpressed than she felt.

“Your father wanted you to have this, when you were old enough,” Obi-Wan added, and Lucy’s head instantly snapped up. “But your uncle wouldn’t allow it.”

The broken-down thing instantly became a precious relic. She’d never had anything that belonged to her father, never even seen anything. Lucy just kept herself from snatching it right out of Obi-Wan’s hand.  

Obi-Wan looked at the handle thoughtfully, grief flickering over his face again. “He feared that you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade,” he said, “like your father did.”

He handed it to her, and Lucy reverently closed her fingers around it. She didn’t care that it was probably garbage now. It had been her father’s; that was enough.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Your father’s lightsaber -- the weapon of a Jedi Knight.”

Lucy’s breath caught. This wasn’t a broken handle in her hands, it was a _hilt_. It was -- it was --

“Not as clumsy or random as a blaster --”

She pressed one of the buttons and four feet of blue light shot out. She swung it gently, trying to keep her hands from shaking, and watched in fascination as the blade hummed back and forth.

Obi-Wan was saying something, but Lucy couldn’t bring herself to pay attention. She was _holding a lightsaber_. Her father’s lightsaber. He had held it in his own hands. He’d thought of her, wanted this given to her, to his daughter. And now it had been, just like he wanted. It was hers.

For a moment, Lucy’s heart pounded so fiercely that she could hear it in her head. Her chest burned and her throat dried and she couldn’t breathe or hear or speak or do anything except think that she had a lightsaber.

Then she thought: Anakin had had this, and he’d still died. What could kill a Jedi Knight?

She’d asked her aunt and uncle, of course. They said he was killed by a hyperdrive malfunction -- that was why there wasn’t a body. But even then, Lucy hadn’t believed it.

She ran her thumb back over the button she’d pressed, and the blade disappeared. Lucy lifted her eyes to Obi-Wan’s.

“How did my father die?”

He drew a harsh breath and glanced away, apparently unable to even meet her eyes.

“A young Jedi named Darth Vader,” he said evenly, “who was a pupil of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights.” He stared straight ahead, then his gaze skittered back to Lucy. “He betrayed and murdered your father.”

Lucy recoiled. She’d known it must be bigger than an accident with a hyperdrive, but she’d never dreamed of anything like this. Not _murder_.

“Now the Jedi are all but extinct,” Obi-Wan said. “Vader was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force.”

“The Force?” she echoed.

“The Force is what gives a Jedi his power.” He turned a sharp, considering look on her, rather as if he were weighing her on some invisible scale, then smiled. “Or hers. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us and binds the galaxy together.”

Lucy’s eyes widened, but before she could ask more, Artoo gave an insistent beep. Obi-Wan walked over to him.

“Now let’s see if we can’t figure out what you are, my little friend, and where you come from.”

Lucy said, “I saw part of -- ”

The girl in the hologram appeared once more, projected from Artoo’s databanks. She was in a different position now; this wasn’t just the fragment Lucy had seen.

“I seem to have found it,” Obi-Wan said. She narrowed her eyes at the droid and he beeped a bit sheepishly.

“General Kenobi,” said the girl, her voice low and commanding, “years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father’s request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I’m afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed.”

Lucy gasped, but the girl didn’t even hesitate, and continued without a tremor:

“I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour.” The pleading look Lucy had already seen came over her face; she spread her hands once more. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

With a buzz of static, the transmission ended.

Obi-Wan leaned back, rubbing his beard, and Lucy eyed him. Of course he was going to help her. He _had_ to. But why hadn’t he been helping already? What was a general and a Jedi Knight doing here, anyway?

He smiled. “You must learn the ways of the Force, if you are to come with me to Alderaan.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open.

“ _Alderaan_?” She gave an incredulous laugh. “I’m not going to Alderaan! I’ve got to get home. It’s late -- I’m in for it as it is!”

“I need your help, Lucy.” Obi-Wan nodded at the hologram. “ _She_ needs your help. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”

Lucy bit her lip. She’d wanted to help the strange girl from the first. And she wanted nothing more than to leave this rock. Only yesterday, she’d been despairing at the impossibility of ever getting out, of her life ever amounting to anything. Now, opportunity wasn’t so knocking at the door as crashing through the windows.  

She could go with Obi-Wan, as her father had done. Get off Tatooine, do something important, become a hero. A _knight_. Every chance she’d ever been denied was at her fingertips. She could have it all, and not in some distant future. Not even soon. At _this very moment_.

It wasn’t as if there were anything for her to do at home, either. Her uncle and aunt didn’t need her, not really. But --

“It’s not that I like the Empire,” she said carefully. “Or that I want to stay. But my uncle and aunt have done everything for me. I can’t just leave them without a word. I have to talk to them.”

“Your uncle won’t let you go,” Obi-Wan warned.

He didn’t have to mention Anakin’s lightsaber; Lucy thought of it anyway. This was her rightful inheritance, and Owen hadn’t even let him pass that much on to her. He’d never agree to this. He’d be angry.

Lucy’s chin firmed. “I’m seventeen. He can’t stop me! But I can’t leave them to wonder what happened to me, either. I’ll explain things. I’ll make them understand, somehow. And even if I can’t, I’m strong enough to defy them. I just can’t disappear and let them think I’ve been killed or worse when I’m safe on Alderaan.”

“But you will learn about the Force,” Obi-Wan said. It wasn’t exactly a question.

“Yes.” Her hand seemed, of its own volition, to settle on the lightsaber. “I want to learn its ways and become a Jedi, like my father.”

“Good,” he said, seeming less triumphant than weary. “Good.”

Lucy felt a flicker of discomfort. “Yes, well, after I’ve talked to them, where should I meet you? Here? Anchorhead? I can take you that far now, if you want. We should be able to get a transport there to Mos Eisley or -- wherever we’re going.”

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Obi-Wan said. “Thank you.”

She flushed, her eyes dropping to the floor. All things considered, _Lucy_ should be thanking _him_ , but she thought she might burst into tears if she tried, and she’d rather die.

Obi-Wan reactivated Threepio and gathered his few belongings while Lucy went out to the landspeeder, trailed by a suspiciously meek Artoo. She settled behind the wheel, more reassured than ever by the machinery beneath her fingers and feet, and within five minutes, they were on their way to Anchorhead.

It was Threepio, always ready to be alarmed, who first espied the column of smoke.

“What’s that?” Lucy said aloud, estimating the distance. It couldn’t be that far from home, but nobody would have started a fire at this time of year.

“Nothing natural. If you can spare the time, we should do what we can to help.”

Lucy hesitated, then nodded. “I can’t think it makes any difference now,” she said, and veered towards the smoke.  

As they approached, she easily made out the remains of the enormous Jawa sandcrawler. She could smell something sweet and acrid on the air, which turned her stomach and tightened her grip on the wheel. She didn’t recognize the scent, but her instincts were screaming that it meant something awful.

Lucy stopped the landspeeder and they all scrambled out. She was in the lead, so she was the first to see the Jawa body sprawled at her feet, its yellow eyes staring sightlessly out of the black mask.

It wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen, but this wasn’t like Fixer’s grandmother dying. It wasn’t even like the Darklighter cousin who’d been killed in a raid. There must be dozens of dead Jawas here. This was a _massacre_.

Shock and horror wouldn’t accomplish anything now, she reminded herself. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, forcing herself into something approximating calm, then opened them again.

“It looks like Sand People,” she said, gazing around. It _did_ look like them. But it didn’t seem right. “Look, here are gaffi sticks, bantha tracks. It’s just -- I’ve never heard of them hitting anything so large before.”

Obi-Wan crouched in the sand, studying the tracks. “They didn’t -- but we are meant to think they did,” he announced. “These tracks are side-by-side. Sand People always ride single-file, to hide their numbers.”

“These are the same Jawas that sold us Artoo and Threepio,” Lucy said slowly. Something was niggling at her brain.

He gestured at the sandcrawler. “And these bullet points, too accurate for Sand People. Only Imperial stormtroopers are so precise.”

“Why would Imperial troops want to slaughter Jawas?” she asked blankly. She glanced around, from the bullet-riddled crawler, to the bodies, to the droids.

The droids. Artoo gave a low, distressed beep and Threepio lifted his head, bewildered. Lucy stared at them in gathering horror. Her sharpening suspicions tumbled ahead of her, faster than she could follow.

“If they traced the robots here, they may have learned who they sold them to,” she said, voice shaking even as her brain relentlessly shoved the pieces together. “And that would lead them -- _home!_ ”

Home. Owen and Beru. No, she thought, _no, no_ \--

She raced back to the speeder, throwing herself inside even as Obi-Wan shouted after her. She didn’t bother listening.

They’d be all right. They had to be. Owen could hold them off. Her aunt would know how to placate them, they’d -- they’d -- it would be fine. She just had to check. Had to make _sure_.

Lucy sped across the wasteland. Flying didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except --

The homestead was burning. She could see the smoke, the holes and damage. It looked like a _battle_ had taken place, not just . . . no. They must have fled when they saw the stormtroopers coming. That would have been sensible, and Owen and Beru Lars were nothing if not sensible.

She jumped out of the speeder. “Uncle Owen!” she screamed. “Aunt Beru! Uncle Owen!”

Half-dazed, Lucy wandered around the homestead, searching for her aunt and uncle. They had to be gone. They wouldn’t ignore her like this. They’d have answered, if they were here.

Lucy’s eyes dropped to the ground. Amidst all the debris, two skeletons lay smouldering.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucy’s terror vanished.

She turned her face away from the charred corpses.

There was nothing to be afraid of, now. Owen and Beru were dead, and her father’s lightsaber hung heavy on her hip. If the stormtroopers returned, she’d welcome them -- she’d be glad to see them. She wanted them to pay, she wanted to make them all pay.

The Empire had taken her entire family: her father, most likely her mother, and now her uncle and aunt. Nobody else could ever avenge them. Just her. And she knew she could do it. Something deep in her told her she could, that with this much rage burning in her, it’d be easy -- nothing.

She waited a minute and then another one, her left hand curling and uncurling. She didn’t hear anything. The stormtroopers had gotten all they wanted here.

Her right hand, which had somehow ended up clenched around her lightsaber, dropped. She’d find another way -- they were heading towards the Rebellion, after all. For now, there was something more important to be done.

She walked past the ruins of her home, to the stretch of land where Shmi Skywalker and Cliegg Lars were buried. Even stormtroopers had the decency to leave graves untouched, she thought distantly, and knelt a few feet to the right of Cliegg’s grave.

She couldn’t give Owen and Beru the burials they ought to have, but she wasn’t leaving them like this, either. Lucy dug into the sand as quickly as she could. She ignored the heat of the grains spilling through her fingers, the hair sticking to the back of her neck, her scalp burning beneath her light hair.

Once she’d made two long, shallow pits, Lucy lined them with chunks of rock and brick. The soldiers had kindly left more than enough to finish the job with. For a moment, she just stared at the two holes, hands tight on her thighs, steeling herself for what would come next. Then she walked back towards the house, and picked the smaller skeleton up in her arms.

It was still hot, but not enough to burn. Lucy tried not to think about it, even when some of Beru’s bones slipped out of her grasp. Once she’d laid the skeleton down, she ran back and picked up her aunt’s fallen bones, then set them in the pit and filled it with more stones.

She stopped to brace herself once more, then did the same thing for Owen’s remains. His were cooler, she thought, in some remote corner of her sickened, horrified mind, but harder to carry.

She knew she was crying and for once, didn’t mind. Owen and Beru deserved her tears. Lucy didn’t even try to wipe them away, just blinked enough to see what she needed to finish her task.

She covered Owen’s skeleton in rocks and rubble, too, then slowly got to her feet. It wasn’t what it should be, but at least they would be safe from scavengers. It even seemed suitable, in an odd way, for them to be buried with pieces of their house.

Lucy turned to go, and stopped. There should be a eulogy. It was custom -- the word rested uncomfortably in her mind, hedged about with reverence and suffering, but it had governed their lives. They’d have wanted it. But there wasn’t anything to say.

She stood in silence, ash smeared on her hands and leggings, hair whipping in the wind.

“Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru -- ”

Lucy bowed her head, waiting for the right thing to come to her. Nothing did.

“Thank you,” she said miserably, and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan felt a small shudder in the Force as he waited.

He did nothing. There was little enough danger, now that the stormtroopers had gone, and Lucy’s raw, undisciplined power couldn’t grant her much more than improbable reflexes and intuition in any case. The risk would be in her training.

Yoda, he suspected, would not consider the risk worthwhile. Nothing could stop Vader if he won the allegiance of Anakin’s daughter -- either of Anakin’s daughters. Obi-Wan knew little more of Leia than he had seen in the hologram. Lucy, however, was very much her father’s child: rash, restless, ambitious. It was not at all impossible that she might choose to serve Vader.

As matters stood, however, it was rather more likely that she would oppose him. He did not fool himself that the situation could not grow any worse -- darkness was infinitely versatile in that regard -- but they were quite bad enough. Even the slimmest of hopes must be seized upon.

Lucy, properly trained, could offer much more than a slim hope. She could save them all. As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, there was no choice. She must be taught -- must become a Jedi. Only then could she accomplish what was necessary. He was just grateful that she had consented so easily.

 _A Jedi, like my father_ , she’d said, and Obi-Wan knew he hadn’t quite managed to conceal the dread that overcame him at the words. Yet she was right, after a fashion. Anakin had been a great warrior, bold and cunning, and so must she be -- but more. Faster, cleverer, stronger. Stronger in _every_ way.

And she would be, if Obi-Wan had anything to say about it.

He opened his eyes. The Force was bright and clear once more, and the corpses of these poor creatures still lay at his feet.

They weren’t Jedi, but it was no matter. All sentient life deserved to be more than food for scavengers; they must be disposed of in a civilized manner, and this was all he knew. Obi-Wan summoned the protocol droid, and ordered him to stack the bodies on a pyre, where he began burning them.

They had nearly finished when Lucy returned, filth streaking her trousers and hands. Obi-Wan chose not to dwell on its likely origin.

She strode past the pyre and looked straight at him, her eyes wide and hard and fearless, just like her -- sister’s.

“I _am_ going to be a Jedi,” she said fiercely, “and I’m going to find some way to stop things like this from happening.”

Obi-Wan dropped his hand on her shoulder. Even through the tunic, he could feel the tightness of her muscles.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Lucy, had you been there. You’d have been killed, too, and the droids would be in the hands of the Empire.”

Lucy’s gaze didn’t waver, but she tilted her head in a familiar gesture of thought.

“I need to wash my hands,” she said.

Obi-Wan looked at the dirt -- no, the charred human flesh -- staining the girl’s fingers, and remembered Anakin’s wide, stricken eyes after their first battle.

 _I can’t do this, Master_ , he’d said, sickened, and Obi-Wan had assured him that his revulsion was only natural, this first time, and it would pass.

It had.

He tore off a corner off his rough robe and handed it to her without a word. While she scrubbed at her fingers, Obi-Wan and Threepio finished burning the Jawa corpses, and then all four of them returned to the landspeeder.

“Mos Eisley?” Lucy asked, her voice flat and toneless.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan kept a sharp eye on her as the speeder hurtled across the desert. She was staring straight ahead with the kind of desperate composure that he could only regard as dangerous: face set, dark blonde hair tangled about her shoulders, hands sure and steady on the wheel. Obi-Wan couldn’t see her without thinking of her father, but never had she reminded him quite so much of Anakin.

Nobody spoke, not even Threepio, until they reached a bluff overlooking the city. Lucy stopped, her blank expression turning quizzical.

“Mos Eisley Spaceport,” said Obi-Wan darkly. “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.”

She nodded and gave him a determined smile.

They continued down into the city, making their way through the main thoroughfare. A group of stormtroopers stopped them, but they were gormless and weak-minded; Obi-Wan easily convinced them that they had seen nothing of interest, and gestured for Lucy to continue driving, until they reached a familiar cantina.

Obi-Wan hesitated. Aside from the occasional dancer, he’d never seen a female of any kind in there -- let alone a pretty young girl who stood at little more than five feet tall and all but exuded innocence and naïveté. He could give her his cloak, but it’d be shoddy concealment in the best of situations; the cantina’s clientele would see past it in a minute.

“You’ll have to sell your speeder,” he said.

Lucy shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m never coming back to this planet again.”

“I’ll find a transport for us here,” he said. “You better go find a buyer for the speeder.”

She eyed the cantina.  “Do you really think you’re going to find a pilot here that’ll take us to Alderaan?”

“Well,” said Obi-Wan, “most of the best freighter pilots can be found here. It can be a little rough, but I can take care of myself.”

He tried to look less worried than he felt. He had no fears for his own safety, but he couldn’t begin to imagine the sort of trouble Lucy might get herself into. Of course, he’d never had any trouble sensing danger to her, or rescuing her from it, but danger moved more swiftly here. He found himself . . . disinclined to let her out of his sight.

“That’s all right then,” Lucy said, and darted a suspicious glance over her shoulder. Several unprepossessing figures of various species were lurking nearby. Two humans leered at her, and she flinched. “Ben, what do I do if someone . . . if something happens?”

“Chop their arms off,” said Obi-Wan.

He nodded at Anakin’s lightsaber and Lucy immediately brightened.

Obi-Wan wondered if he should be more encouraged or alarmed by this, and instead simply watched as she drove away, accompanied by her sister’s droids. It was odd, he thought: after all the trouble they’d taken to pull that family apart, and seventeen years of separation, sheer chance had intervened to bind their lives together once more.

 _Chance_ , he scoffed to himself, and ducked inside the cantina.

Obi-Wan glanced around, but saw no cause for any greater caution than usual. He made his way to the bar and seated himself beside a group of repulsive humans. Within a few minutes, he’d convinced them not to shoot him and to direct him to a more promising specimen, which he considered a greater feat of negotiation than anything he’d accomplished in his years of service to the Republic.

This superior being turned out to be a Wookiee named Chewbacca, the first mate on a ship that could bring them to Alderaan.

Provided, he added, that Obi-Wan could pay them for their trouble.

Naturally, Obi-Wan assured him, and Chewbacca told him to stay at the bar while he went to consult with his partner. A few minutes later, the Wookiee returned to lead him to a small booth.

The partner turned out to be a cocky young man, perhaps thirty, with brown hair and the Core in his voice.

“Han Solo,” he said brusquely. “I’m captain of the _Millennium Falcon_. Chewie here tells me you’re looking for passage to the Alderaan system.”

“Yes, indeed -- if it’s a fast ship.”

“Fast ship!” Solo looked outraged. “You’ve never heard of the _Millennium Falcon_? It’s the ship that made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs!”

 _Parsecs_? Obi-Wan all but mouthed, and the Wookiee looked almost sheepish.

Solo was not the first brash young pilot Obi-Wan had met -- not at all, he thought, Anakin’s and Lucy’s hands blurring together in his mind. However, he was certainly the first to try and impress him with such _obvious_ misinformation.

“I’ve outrun Imperial starships -- not the local bulk cruisers, mind you. I’m talking about the big Corellian ships now. She’s fast enough for you, old man.” He looked around. “What’s the cargo?”

“Only passengers: myself, two droids, and -- ” Obi-Wan paused -- “a woman.”

“A woman, huh?”

Obi-Wan ignored him. “And _no questions asked_.”

“What is it?  Some kind of . . . local trouble?” Solo said, his lips quirking.

“We’d like to avoid Imperial entanglements.”

The pilot laughed. “Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it? And it’s going to cost you something extra.”

After several minutes of haggling, they settled the deal, and Obi-Wan left the cantina in reasonably good spirits. He found Lucy safe in a speeder lot, arguing in a clear, querulous voice with the dealer. She’d just accepted some coins by the time Obi-Wan made his way to her side.

“He says it’s the best he can do,” Lucy said in disgust. “Since the XP-38 came out, they’re just not in demand.”

Obi-Wan had no more idea what this meant than when it’d been Anakin prattling on about rear thrusters and sublight engines. He settled for a reassuring nod.

“It will be enough,” he said.

“Did you find a ship?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Yes. If it’s as fast as its pilot boasts, we ought to do well.”

They made their way down the street, trailed by the droids, and Obi-Wan felt a frisson of alarm. He quickened their pace, relieved to reach the correct docking bay without incident. Chewbacca was waiting for them and after a brief glance at Lucy, hurried them on their way to the ship.

“What a piece of junk!” Lucy cried.

Obi-Wan found it difficult to disagree with her. The great _Millennium Falcon_ looked less like a starship and more like a heap of trash that some reckless soul had taken upon himself to bolt together.

“She’ll make point five beyond the speed of light,” Solo said as he came down the ramp. “She may not look like much, but she’s got -- ”

He stopped in his tracks. Solo, Obi-Wan suspected, was not a man of many scruples, but even he seemed appalled at the sight of Lucy standing between the two droids.

“You said you were bringing a woman,” he said, half-accusingly, “not a little girl.”

Lucy glared at him. “I’m not a little girl!”

Chewbacca hurried up the ramp and roared something that Obi-Wan didn’t catch. Solo gave a short laugh.

“Lucky you paid extra, old man,” he told Obi-Wan, his voice heavy with contempt. “Well, we’re a little rushed, so if you’ll hurry aboard we’ll get out of here.”

Lucy hesitated, then hurried up the ramp, prodded by Solo’s hand at the small of her back. Obi-Wan and the droids trailed after her, climbing inside the ship just in time to miss a volley of shots. After a minute, Solo dashed inside, and the overhead entry slammed shut.

“Chewie, get us out of here!” he shouted. Obi-Wan, Lucy, and Threepio strapped themselves into the passengers’ seats as the ship began to shake.

“Oh my,” Threepio said faintly. “I’d forgotten how much I hate space travel.”


	6. Chapter 6

The _Falcon_ sailed into space, several Imperial cruisers in hot pursuit. Obi-Wan, who had briefly felt some small optimism, sighed.

“Would it be possible to clean ourselves? I’m afraid it’s been a rather trying day.”

One of the Star Destroyers fired at them, Solo barely evading the blast. Chewbacca shouted directions, and Obi-Wan led Lucy down the hall.

“Do you understand him?” she asked. “I mean, the . . . uh . . .”

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. “I can’t speak the Wookiee tongue -- no human can, any more than they can speak Basic -- but long ago, I found myself in a position to learn their language. It’s a skill that can never be wasted.” He nodded at the fourth doorway. “There should be enough water to wash yourself in there.”

Her eyes widened. “Water?”

By sheer force of will, Obi-Wan managed to keep his mind in the present. “Water is not quite the commodity for Captain Solo that it has been for you, Lucy.”

“Oh . . .”

Several minutes later, she emerged, her face pale and her hands red. Obi-Wan opted not to comment on it and simply took his turn, then retraced their steps. His hand was on the door when he stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“I think it would be best,” Obi-Wan said carefully, “if I were your uncle.”

“What?”

He gave her a level glance. “Captain Solo, I suspect, is under a certain misapprehension about the connection between us.”

Lucy blinked. “He thinks that we’re -- _oh!_ ” She looked horrified, then resentful. “All right, Ben. Uncle Ben.”

They squeezed into the cramped cockpit, staring out the viewscreen at the vastness of space, and the enormous Imperial ships.

“Stay sharp!” Solo snapped at his companion. “There are two more coming in -- they’re going to try to cut us off.”

Lucy gasped, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Why don’t you outrun them? I thought you said this thing was fast!”

He glowered at her. “Watch your mouth, little girl, or you’re going to find yourself _floating_ home. We’ll be safe enough once we make the jump to hyperspace. Besides, I know a few maneuvers. We’ll lose them!”

An explosion flashed past the window. Threepio gave something very like a whimper. Only Anakin, Obi-Wan thought, would create a _droid_ with such a ridiculously organic personality.

“Here’s where the fun begins,” Solo said with a short laugh.

Obi-Wan winced. “How long before you can make the jump to light-speed?”

“It’ll take a few moments to get the coordinates from the navicomputer.”

A volley of lasers struck the ship, which shuddered violently. Lucy stumbled.

“Are you kidding?” she cried. “At the rate they’re gaining -- ”

“Travelling through hyperspace isn’t like dusting crops, girl!” snarled Solo. “Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that’d end your trip real quick, wouldn’t it?”

She subsided into sullen silence, locking her hands behind her back and staring straight ahead. The Imperial ships continued to fire on the _Falcon_. A light on the navicomputer flashed red.

“What’s that flashing?” Lucy asked, impulsively reaching toward it. Solo slapped her hand away.

“We’re losing our deflector shield,” he said shortly, and jerked his head at the passenger seats. “Go strap yourself in. I’m going to make the jump to light speed.”

They obeyed, Obi-Wan and Threepio with rather less reluctance than Lucy. She glared at the back of the captain’s head and Artoo gave a beep of solidarity.

“Don’t worry, Artoo,” she whispered. “If this trash heap holds together, I’ll get you cleaned and oiled in no time. Everything’s going to be fine.”

With a groan from strained machinery, the ship lurched into hyperspace.

Obi-Wan’s heart clenched in his chest, Lucy’s head snapped back, Artoo crashed into the wall and Threepio kept up a steady stream of complaints, but rather to his surprise, no new catastrophe befell them.  

Within a few minutes, the ship had steadied. Lucy unbuckled her belt and rushed over to Artoo’s side, kneeling down and shoving him upright. The little astrodroid whistled, then wobbled closer to her, beeping.

Lucy smiled down at him.  

“I need to oil my droids,” she announced.

Solo gave an exasperated sigh. “Chewie, deal with the girl, will you? The old man’s about all I can handle.”

“I’m _right here_.” She crossed her arms, scowling. “And we have names, you know.”

“Yeah? What are they?”

She deflated a little. “This is Ben Kenobi, and I’m Lucy. Lucy Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan saw the man’s hand jerk in surprise, and his amusement at the interchange faded. Solo was young, but not _that_ young; he couldn’t be much under thirty.  He’d have been what, twelve, when the wars ended? Plenty old enough to remember them.

Chewbacca clambered to his feet and gestured at the door, but Lucy seemed too busy glowering at Solo to notice. Obi-Wan suppressed a smile.

Solo didn’t bother. “Those droids going to oil themselves?”

Chewbacca advised her to ignore him. Lucy, Obi-Wan felt certain, didn’t understand a word he'd said, but some things clearly transcended language: she tossed her hair, collected her droids, and stalked out the door.

Solo turned in his chair and leaned back, letting his hands rest on his head. Something that a less observant man might have called a smile tugged at his mouth.  

“You going to tell me she’s your granddaughter?” he said.

“My niece,” Obi-Wan said smoothly.

Anakin had been his brother. Lucy _was_ his niece, from a certain point of view. But if he thought that would settle the smuggler’s doubts, he was wrong. Solo gave him a skeptical look.

“Your niece. Right.”

For a moment, they sat in silence. Obi-Wan had no intention of inventing an elaborate story to appease this boy, and Solo seemed occupied with his own thoughts. He didn’t imagine the respite would last long.

“So.” Solo cast him a swift, sharp glance. He was young, Obi-Wan reminded himself, but not stupid. And apparently whatever principles he might have once possessed hadn’t been entirely eradicated; he might make himself difficult. “Skywalker and Kenobi, huh?”

Obi-Wan contented himself with a nod, and Solo swung back to the viewscreen, staring at the black of hyperspace.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, old man,” he said finally. “You’ve done more than drag off some idiot teenage girl. Well, I don’t care. But it better not get me killed, all right?”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan rose to his feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I should go see how Lucy is holding up.”

“Sure.”

He was at the door when the smuggler called after him, “Hey, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Pick better names. You want you and your … _niece_ to survive a year in the Empire, you’ll need something a three-year-old couldn’t see through.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy knelt in front of Artoo, scrubbing at the layers of sand and grime.

“I nearly had you clean last night,” she told him, “before you want haring off into the desert.”

Artoo’s beep seemed half-apologetic.

“I understand now. Really, I do. You had to get that girl’s message to Ben. It’s just -- ” She dropped the rag and leaned forward, her hands pressing against the floor. She thought she could still smell something sweet and sickly in the air.  

Artoo gave a compassionate whistle. Lucy just managed to smile at him, blinking her eyes clear.

“Thanks. You know, it’s strange -- ” she went back to oiling his wheels -- “but after everything, I still don’t know who she is. I don’t know anything about her at all, even though she’s changed my entire life.”

Threepio’s eyes glinted in her direction. “You mean the princess, ma’am?”

“So you _do_ know who she is!” Lucy cried.

She was a _princess_. Of course she was -- it really was just like a story. Not a _nice_ story, obviously -- the kind she'd overheard when she was little, that sent her scurrying behind her aunt’s skirts or hiding her head under a pillow. Yet somehow, as soon as she thought of the girl in the hologram, everything else seemed to fade away, as if . . . she didn’t know what. But it felt important.

“Well, I -- ”

“It’s all right,” Lucy assured him. “You probably have to keep important secrets all the time.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that, ma'am.”

“R2-D2 would, though!” she said, laughing. “Wouldn’t you, Artoo?”

He beeped.  

“Well, can you tell me who she is now? You’ve fulfilled your mission, haven’t you? And you know I’m trustworthy.”

“I didn’t know about the mission,” said Threepio, sounding alarmed. “Believe me, I didn’t! If I’d had any idea -- well! Things would have gone _very_ differently, I assure you.”

Artoo gave a derisive whistle, then rocked back and forth.

“I’ll find out eventually, anyway, since we’re taking you to her father,” Lucy said, and grinned. “I just want to know _now_.”

After a high, hysterical screech, the astrodroid settled into a series of thoughtful whirrs. Then he seemed to cheer up, and projected a familiar white-clad figure.

“Artoo, I’ve already -- ” Lucy stopped. The belt clasped around the princess’ waist was gold, not silver; her gown, though white and cowled, had fuller, stiffer skirts and a square neck. It was a different message.

After a burst of static, the princess came to holographic life, straightening and pushing her hood off her shoulders. Now Lucy could see that her cheeks were rounder; her frame seemed a little slighter, too, and she wore her dark hair in long, elaborate, impractical curls.

“I am Princess Leia of Alderaan,” she said tonelessly. “On behalf of my father, Viceroy Organa, I am obliged to inform you that whatever tax you choose to place on -- ” she glanced to the side -- “laser missiles are of no interest to us whatsoever, as Alderaan has no weapons. House Organa, moreover, is wholly loyal to the Emperor. We suggest you take your seditious plans elsewhere.”

She looked positively martyred. Lucy giggled.

“Princess Leia,” she repeated.

 _Leia_. It sounded -- right. “Thanks, Artoo.”

He beeped and extended a rusty data probe. Lucy had just begun to clean it when the door opened and Obi-Wan entered.

“Hello, Lucy,” he said, and glanced around in some confusion. “Ah, I thought I heard Chewbacca in here.”

“No -- he went to do . . . something. I didn’t quite follow. Oh! You probably just heard Leia.”

“Leia!”

His eyes fell on the hologram.

“Artoo,” he said, “you -- you should be more careful of old data. It would be unfortunate if you were to lose anything crucial.”

Artoo’s beep might have been penitent. Lucy rather thought not.

“I came, however, to see if you were nearly finished, Lucy. We’ll be in hyperspace for awhile, so it’ll be an excellent time to begin your training.”

“Oh!” Lucy looked down at the droid. “Well, Threepio can manage himself -- whatever our great captain might think -- but I’m only half-done with Artoo, and I did promise. How long is awhile?”

“Probably something in the vicinity of two weeks, for us,” Obi-Wan replied. “I think I can spare a few minutes for Artoo to finish his bath.”

A quarter of an hour later, Artoo wheeled away with a string of happy beeps, Lucy went off to wash her hands again, and then ran back.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

Obi-Wan, who had apparently been lost in contemplation, lifted his eyes to meet hers, his gaze steady and somehow disconcerting.

“The Force,” he said, “is constantly with us: with everything, to some degree or another. That degree is great enough, with some of us, that we can learn to sense its presence and channel its power.”

“The Jedi, right?”

He inclined his head. “Among others, yes. The Jedi are -- were -- warriors sworn to the Force, who vowed to use its powers to guard truth and justice wherever we may. However, many of those sensitive to the Force have used its powers for other, less noble purposes.”

Lucy couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose not to be a Jedi. Her brows drew together. “Like who?” she asked.

“Palpatine, for one.”

It took her a moment to place the name. “The Emperor! _He_ has . . .” Lucy gestured vaguely. “Powers?”

“Oh, yes. The Force is very strong with him -- stronger than with almost anyone who has ever lived.”

“Stronger than Father?”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, “not -- nobody was, except Vader. That’s why, when Palpatine came to power, he had a particular interest in your father. Every Jedi came under order of execution, as each of us was a threat to him, but -- Anakin most of all. To this day, any Force-sensitive found in the galaxy is immediately put to death.”

Lucy had always dutifully hated the Empire. But not like this. Even when Obi-Wan told her of her father’s murder, she’d blamed the evil traitor who had killed him, not the Empire at large. But it _was_ the Empire’s fault.

She remembered, with a sharp clarity, the first time she’d suddenly known something. It wasn’t important -- Beru had lost a spoon, or a spool of thread, or something like that. Lucy didn’t remember; she’d only been five or six years old. But she remembered telling her aunt where it was. She hadn’t seen it; she just _knew_. She didn’t even think anything of it until she got a sharp scolding from Beru, and then a sharper one from Owen. Lucy couldn’t understand why they were so angry with her, but she learned not to speak when those inexplicable insights came to her.

Good instincts and good memory, she’d always told herself, but it wasn’t. Even she knew that, deep down. And now she knew that they hadn’t been angry at all -- they’d been _afraid_.

Lucy swallowed. “My uncle and aunt always kept me home when there were vaccinations at my school,” she said. “I overheard him saying it was too dangerous. Was that . . .?”

“Yes. There’s no way to directly measure Force-sensitivity, of course, and few know the signs any more, but certain correlations with blood levels are high enough that it’s relatively easy to test. If the Empire had known of your existence, you would have been killed before you could talk -- or worse.”

She didn’t want to know what was worse.  

“What can he do?”

Obi-Wan reached out his hand, and her father’s lightsaber flew from her side to his fingers. Lucy jumped.

“That, I’m afraid, is the least of his abilities,” Obi-Wan told her. “To list every possible use of the Force would take several years that we do not have. Suffice it to say that _nothing_ is impossible.”

He tossed the lightsaber back at her, and she snatched it out of the air before she knew what had happened, her fingers tightening convulsively around the hilt. It was foolish, she knew, but she’d felt almost naked without it.

“If he’s that powerful,” she said slowly, “how can the Rebellion even hope to defeat him? How can anyone?”

Obi-Wan only looked at her.

Lucy didn’t let herself think through his meaning. She thought, instead, of how there ought to be hundreds if not thousands of Jedi throughout the galaxy. It was at times like this that people most needed heroes. Instead, there was the Emperor, not a Jedi at all, just a man twisting his gifts into a tool of tyranny; Darth Vader, who _was_ a Jedi and therefore still worse; and Obi-Wan, who himself insisted that he was getting old and weak. The others were killed before they could do anything at all.  

Yet the Force kept granting its powers, to the wicked and doomed alike. And by some chance, she had survived.

 _Not chance_ , she thought, remembering Owen and Beru’s bodies.

She’d realized, then, that she was the last Skywalker. If anybody was to avenge the wreck of her family, it would have to be her. Now she knew it was bigger than that. She would be the last _Jedi_. She’d have to look beyond the concerns of her own family, to the entire galaxy.

Lucy felt very small and very weak. She looked down at her hands, at the blue veins running down her wrists. That was her father’s blood flowing under her skin, her father’s power. She had a duty to him, to use it as he would have wanted, and to the universe, to repay the gift. Her mouth firmed and she lifted her eyes to Obi-Wan’s.

“How do I start?”


	7. Chapter 7

Lucy sat on her bunk, legs crossed and eyes shut, trying to meditate as Obi-Wan had taught her. It wasn’t working very well.

Her brows twitched. He wouldn’t teach her how to fight with the lightsaber until she mastered this. So she _had_ to figure it out, somehow.

 _Don’t fight your thoughts_ , he’d said. _Accept them, then let them pass, until your mind is clear and your emotions are open to you._

Fine.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed.

It was awkward, to depend on Obi-Wan and his advice so much, but she had no one else left. For as much as Owen had disapproved of him, he had still been part of her life at home. Owen and Beru at the farmstead. The Darklighters five miles off, their nearest neighbours -- Biggs, her best friend. Only friend, she thought sometimes. And yes, Ben Kenobi in his hovel, occasionally showing up out of nowhere to rescue some kid from his misadventure.

Or _her_ misadventure. Most often, it was Lucy, and Biggs if he happened to have gotten caught up in her latest scrape.

Biggs probably hadn’t have found the Rebels yet. But maybe she would see him again, after they delivered the droids to Alderaan. They could be Rebels _together_. Maybe even fly together.

Of course she’d fly. The Rebellion wouldn’t be like the Empire, and flying was all she’d ever wanted. All she’d even been much good at, except languages, and much use _that_ was. Obviously she wasn’t good at this Force thing. Or was it this hard for everyone?

Well, not Obi-Wan. Not her father, she thought, and let her mind wander on, flitting from subject to subject until her closed lids grew heavy.

Lucy, suppressing a yawn, almost nodded off, and instead, felt . . . something. Something so impossibly vast and powerful and _more_ , like the desert, that she ached, longing for it. She could tell it was dangerous, too, but as vibrant as the Tatooine sands were desolate. And where she’d regarded the desert as an enemy -- not an equal one, no, it was boundless in its power, but it was also other than her, opposed to her, this was -- it was different -- this was within her, or part of her, or just _her_ \--

“Hey,” said Han Solo, and she shrieked and tumbled off the bed.

He laughed while she struggled to her feet, dusting off her grimy, everything-stained tunic and leggings.

“What do you want _now_ , Captain?”

“Han’ll do fine,” drawled the captain. “We don’t exactly stand on formality here. Speaking of which, this is Chewie’s cabin, so --”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried, briefly forgetting how much she disliked him. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll take my things --” _her things_ amounted to the clothes on her back and tools around her waist, but she swept on regardless -- “and stay wherever you’ve got Ben.”

“No!” Han’s ever-present cocky smile vanished, his brows lowering over narrowed eyes. “You’ll stay here with Chewie, got it? And don’t come crying when his snores keep you up.”

“I’m not cry --” She remembered what Obi-Wan had told her of Han’s suspicions, and scowled. “Fine, I don’t care. It’s your ship.”

The smirk was firmly back in place. “Damn right it’s my ship.”

Lucy examined her nails.

“Anyway. Sonic shower through there.” He pointed. “Change your clothes in there, too.”

“I don’t have any other clothes,” said Lucy.

“Well, I’d let you wear mine,” Han said, a distinct note of laughter in his voice, “but somehow I don’t think there’d be much point.”

She glanced up, considering his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and blushed. Astonishingly, he managed to look even more amused than he had already.

“Never mind,” she said hastily. “My droids can wash these. I assume you do have soap on this thing?” Lucy paused. “Somewhere?”

“Yeah, somewhere.” He slouched off, the door slamming down behind him.

Lucy suppressed the urge to throw her lightsaber at it. With her luck, it’d ignite and -- well, serve him right, but they didn’t need Han adding a door to his already exorbitant fee. She crossed her arms and sulked.

After two weeks, which Han spent hopping in and out of hyperspace, trying to evade Imperial ships with little apparent success, while Lucy practiced sets of mind-numbingly dull exercises, Obi-Wan finally agreed to begin teaching her lightsaber forms.

She almost bounced as she pulled her clothes on. They hadn’t been so much cleaned as decontaminated; fortunately, if inexplicably, Threepio’s creator had seen fit to include household chores among his areas of expertise.

Lucy straightened her tunic, imagining herself as a great warrior, lightsaber humming in her hand. Like so -- she flung out a clenched fist, swinging her arm and twirling -- all right, it wouldn’t really be like that, but she could pretend it’d be that easy -- and her untidy long hair fell over her arms. Lucy scowled at her reflection.

Well, Obi-Wan _had_ said that Jedi apprentices had traditionally worn braids, even if it was one of the trivial traditions that he’d also said she didn’t have to bother with. She plaited her hair, ripped out a strip of her tunic and tied it around the end of the braid, and ran out to find him.

He seemed pleased, in his wry Obi-Wan way, and modelled the forms that she needed to learn. It wasn’t as easy as her fantasy, of course -- but nearly. For once, something besides flying seemed to come naturally to her. She copied Obi-Wan’s stance without any trouble, and it only took two tries before her lightsaber arced through the air in exactly the same motion as his. She smiled, pleased -- for about a minute, until he dug up a seeker drone and began playing with the controls.

Lucy lowered her lightsaber. “What’s that for?”

Rather than answering, Obi-Wan tossed the drone into the air. Without warning, it shot a bright red laser beam at him -- and the Jedi raised his sword, the beam rebounding off the blade. Lucy stifled a gasp.

“Can they stop _anything?_ ” she asked, staring at her own weapon.

“In conjunction with the Force? Yes,” said Obi-Wan, and with a flick of his fingers, the drone fell quiescent. He stepped back. “Now I want you to practice blocking its motions with your lightsaber.”

“Me? But I can’t --”

At his expression, she bit her lip and walked forward. The instant she saw the red light, she swung her lightsaber up, the motion awkward but swift, and the laser bounced harmlessly away.

“I did it! Ben, did you see that? I did it!”

“You did,” Obi-Wan said, smiling, then nodded at the drone. It spat another laser at her; she blocked it again.

He set her to practicing and walked a short distance away, watching her. Then he gasped, clutched his chest, and collapsed on a stool, leaning forward in pain.

“Are you all right?” Lucy said, dousing her lightsaber and rushing over to him.

“I felt . . . a great disturbance in the Force,” he said, “as if millions of voices cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.” He rubbed his temple. “You . . . you’d better get on with your exercises.”

Lucy hesitated -- he still looked awful -- then dropped her hand on his shoulder and went back to practicing, while Chewbacca and the droids played an unfamiliar game in the corner.

Han swaggered in. “Well, you can forget your troubles with those Imperial slugs,” he said. “I told you I’d outrun them.”

She ignored him and concentrated on the beams darting in her direction. Nobody else seemed to be paying attention, either.

“Anyway, we should be at Alderaan about oh-two-hundred hours.” He crossed his arms and said something about the game; Lucy, focused on the drone, didn’t bother listening. Obi-Wan watched her intently.

“Remember,” he said, “Jedi can feel the Force _flowing_ through them.”

Lucy felt a jolt of alarm. “You mean it controls your actions?”

“Partially. But it also obeys your commands.”

She tightened her suddenly slick grip on the lightsaber, while the drone started to dart around her, as if considering its attack. She stood her ground when it lunged at her face, but stumbled when it jerked around and fired a beam at her leg.

Han laughed. “Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, girl.”

Lucy looked over at him. “You don’t believe in the Force, do you?”

“Girl, I’ve flown from one side of this galaxy to the other,” said Han. He was grinning with his usual insouciance, but for once he didn’t seem wholly contemptuous -- of her, anyway. “I’ve seen a lot of strange stuff, but I’ve never seen anything to make me believe there’s one all-powerful force controlling everything.” He glanced from her to Obi-Wan. “There’s no mystical energy field that controls _my_ destiny.”

The Jedi smiled a little to himself.

“It’s all a lot of simple tricks and nonsense,” Han added.

“I suggest you try it again, Lucy,” he said, picking up a large helmet. “This time, let go of your conscious self --” he placed the helmet over her head -- “and act on _instinct_.”

She laughed. “With the blast-shield down, I can’t even see. How am I supposed to fight?”

“Your eyes can deceive you,” said Obi-Wan. She could barely tell which direction his voice was even coming from. “Don’t trust them.”

She heard the seeker drone start up again, and swung blindly, then yelped as another bolt hit her.

“Stretch out with your feelings,” Obi-Wan said.

Lucy tried to remember what it’d been like earlier, letting conscious thought pass away, just _feeling._ She stood frozen in place, trying to do something other than brace herself against the next shot, searching her emotions for anything other than apprehension, and found a faint stirring of . . . something. She narrowed all her attention on it, and for a moment she _knew_ where everything was, each location crisp and sharp in her mind, Han turned towards the control panel, Artoo prodding a game piece, the seeker veering in from the right --

She turned towards it and raised her lightsaber against another bolt, then instinctively deflected two more from different directions.

Lucy lifted the blast shield, smiling widely. Her heart pounded in her ears, exhilaration through her veins, as if she’d just hurtled through the Needle and outflown everyone, all at once.

Obi-Wan looked pleased and proud. “You see, you can do it.”

“I call it luck,” snapped Han.

Lucy was too thrilled to be irritated. She just grinned.

“In my experience,” said Obi-Wan, with the first trace of annoyance she’d ever seen in him, “there’s no such thing as _luck_.”

Han shrugged. “Good against remotes is one thing.” He smirked at her. “Good against the living, now, that’s something else.”

Somebody, Lucy promised herself, she’d be a Jedi Knight. She'd show him. Even if he wasn’t there to see it.

Something flashed on the control panel, and Han swung sharply around.

“Looks like we’re coming up on Alderaan,” he said, and he and Chewbacca hurried out. Lucy pulled the helmet off and smiled, a little tentatively, at her teacher.

“You know,” she said, “I did feel something. I could almost see the remote.”

“Good. You have taken your first step into a larger world,” said Obi-Wan.

A few minutes later, the starship gave a violent shudder. Lucy and Obi-Wan ran into the cockpit as the _Falcon_ lurched once more. She stared, wide-eyed, at the asteroids battering the ship.

“What’s going on?” she cried.

“Our position is correct,” said Han, frowning at the navicomputer, “except -- no Alderaan!”

Lucy’s voice rose several notches further. “What do you mean? Where is it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, little girl. It ain’t there. It’s been totally blown away.”

“ _What?_ How?”

Behind her, Obi-Wan said, “Destroyed. By the Empire.”

Han scoffed. “The entire Starfleet couldn’t destroy the whole planet. It’d take a thousand ships with more firepower than I’ve --”

Something else flashed, and an alarm began to hum.

“There’s another ship coming in,” said Han.

“Maybe they know what happened!” Lucy said brightly.

“It’s an Imperial fighter,” said Obi-Wan.

Lucy turned half-accusingly towards Han. “It followed us!”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, “it’s a short-range fighter.”

“There aren’t any bases around here,” said Han, his voice more puzzled than panicked. “Where’d it come from?”

Lucy and Obi-Wan speculated among themselves, while Han pursued the tiny fighter, steadily gaining, even as a bright star resolved into a blob of light. A planet or moon -- no, definitely a moon, she thought, and pointed.

“Look at him,” she said. “He’s headed for that small moon.”

“I think I can get him before he gets there -- he’s almost in range,” Han muttered, hands tight on the controls.

The Jedi drew a harsh breath. “That’s no moon. It’s a _space station._ ”

“It’s too big to be a space station --” Horror crept over Han's face.

Chewie, Han, Lucy, and Obi-Wan gaped at the sphere, far smoother than any natural satellite could be, lit up by millions of lights, bisected by a massive chasm.

“I have a _very_ bad feeling about this,” Lucy said.

Chewbacca tried to reverse the ship, without success. Lucy tightened her grip on his chair.

 _“Why are we still moving towards it?”_

“We’re caught in a tractor beam,” said Han, his fingers playing over the controls. “It’s pulling us in.”

“But there’s got to be something you can do,” she said desperately.

“There’s nothing I can do about, little girl,” he snarled. “I’m in full power -- I’m going to have to shut down.” His expression shifted to one of fierce determination. “But they’re not going to get _me_ without a fight!”

“You can’t win,” Obi-Wan told him, and leaned forward. “But there _are_ alternatives to fighting.”

Lucy watched as the space station grew closer and even more colossal, her lips pressed tightly together.

“You must have compartments where you store your -- merchandise,” Obi-Wan said. “Are they large enough for us?”

“Won’t they search those?” Lucy asked.

Han gave a short laugh. “Not likely. All right, old man, it’s worth a try. Here, let me give ’em something to find, first.” He spent a few precious minutes tapping into the computer while Lucy fidgeted. “Come on.”

Han sprang up, grabbing her arm and racing down the corridors, towards the entrance to the ship, while Lucy struggled to keep up and Chewbacca and Obi-Wan hurried after them. Then he came to an abrupt halt and released his grip on her.

“What?” she snapped, rubbing her wrist.

For answer, he knelt and pulled up the floor, revealing two storage compartments. Lucy peered suspiciously downwards.

“Hurry,” Obi-Wan told them, lowering himself into one of the compartments. Han and Lucy jumped into the other one, followed by Chewbacca, who pulled the floor down after them.

Lucy crouched beside Han in the darkness, straining to hear anything other than the groan of the ship’s engines. There was a brush of fabric -- Han reaching for his blaster. Lucy had already unhooked her lightsaber and closed her fingers around it.

For long, slow, uncountable minutes, she felt nothing but the cold weight of her weapon and Han’s breath against her cheek. She could hear her own, quicker, shallower breaths, and the occasional shift from Chewie.

With a loud clunk, the ramp opened. Lucy twitched.

“Wait for it,” breathed Han. Heavy, booted footsteps clattered over their heads and then around the ship, while lightly mechanized voices talked back and forth. Lucy suppressed the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and cover her ears like the child he insisted she was.

They waited several more minutes, and then Han pushed the floor aside, followed by Obi-Wan. Han and Lucy stood up, squinting as their eyes adjusted, and hoisted themselves up to sit on the edge of their compartment.

“It’s lucky you had these compartments,” said Lucy.

“I use them for smuggling,” Han said, brows drawn together, and added, “I never thought I’d be smuggling _myself_ in them!” He threw his hands up. “This is ridiculous. Even if I could take off, I’d never get past the tractor beam.”

“Leave that to me,” said Obi-Wan.

Han scowled. “Damn fool,” he muttered. “I knew you were going to say that!”

Obi-Wan gave one of his most serene smiles. “Who’s the more foolish -- the fool, or the fool who follows him?”

Chewbacca, popping up, gave a roar of agreement. Han sighed, but in an oddly affectionate, un-Han-like gesture, rubbed the Wookiee’s head.

“All right,” he said, and lifted his blaster. “Let’s see if we can get out of here.”


	8. Chapter 8

Han crept towards the ramp, and peered left and right. Then he darted just around the corner, motioning for Lucy, Obi-Wan, and Chewbacca to stay behind him. They flattened themselves against the wall.

“Hey, down there!” he shouted. “Could you give us a hand with this?”

Lucy and Obi-Wan dropped their hands to their lightsabers. Han only sighed and pressed one finger against his lips.

Two stormtroopers ran up the ramp and slightly past them. Without hesitation, Han lifted his blaster and shot them both in the back. Lucy flinched, then felt a moment’s relief that she couldn’t see their expressions as they died.

Han, however, dropped beside the bodies and pulled the helmets off their heads, revealing two startled, perfectly normal -- if dead -- faces. Obi-Wan dropped a reassuring hand on her shoulder, while Chewbacca helped Han take off the stormtroopers’ armour.

“What are you doing?” Lucy whispered.

Han gave her an appraising look. “Lucky you’re skinny,” he said.

“I’m _not_ \--”

She grunted as he threw one of the helmets at her.

“Put it on. They’ll be expecting two stormtroopers to come out. That’s what they’ll get.”

“It won’t work,” said Lucy. “I’m too short, I can’t --”

Han had already buckled himself into one of the suits of armour. “You’ll figure it out,” he said, settled the helmet on his head, and ran down the ramp. Chewbacca held up the other suit and howled.

“All right, I’ll try! Just keep quiet,” she hissed, and shoved her feet into the boots. They came halfway up her thigh. She managed one shuffling step and nearly fell over. “Look, this _isn’t going to work._ Just -- give him a minute and --”

He rushed out and Lucy gritted her teeth.

“If they didn’t notice anything wrong before, they will _now!_ ”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing, only stepping forward to peer down the ramp.

“I think it’s clear. Get the droids and come after me,” he said, and after losing another two minutes to finding Threepio and persuading him to come out, the four of them slipped down as quietly as they could, racing towards the control center. She heard a shout, a blast, and a roar just as she followed the others through the doors.

The bodies of two officers were sprawled across the floor. Lucy stared at them for a moment, then turned an accusing look on Han and Chewbacca.

“You know, between his howling and your blasting everything in sight,” she snapped, “it’s a wonder the whole station doesn’t know we’re here!”

“Bring them on!” Han retorted. “I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around.”

Han Solo, she decided, must be the worst smuggler _ever._

Obi-Wan and the droids went over to the computer, Artoo plugging himself into the terminal and then giving a sharp whistle. A series of maps flashed across the screen.

“The tractor beam is coupled to the main reactor in seven locations,” Threepio said. “A power loss at one of the terminals will allow the ship to leave.”

Obi-Wan considered the maps for a moment, then glanced at Han and Lucy. “I don’t think you children can help. I must go alone.”

Han -- as always -- had no objection to not helping. Lucy gave him a disgusted look and turned back to her teacher.

“I want to go with you,” she said earnestly.

“Be patient, Lucy,” said Obi-Wan. “Stay and watch over the droids.”

She waved her hand at Han. “But he can --”

“They _must_ be delivered safely,” Obi-Wan told her, “or other star systems will suffer the same fate as Alderaan. Your destiny lies along a different path than mine.” He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes intent on hers. “The Force will be with you, always.”

Lucy didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded and he slipped out.

Chewbacca put his hands on his hips and growled something. Han laughed.

“You said it, Chewie.” He turned towards Lucy with an air of something almost like camaraderie. “Where did you dig up that old fossil?”

“Ben is a great man!”

“Yeah, great at getting us into trouble.”

“I didn’t hear _you_ give any ideas,” she said frostily.

“Well, anything would be better than just hanging around, waiting for him to pick us up!”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you --”

Before the argument could devolve further, Artoo began shrieking, sounding as nearly frantic as a droid could. Rather grateful at the interruption, Lucy walked over to him.

“What is it?”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure, ma’am,” Threepio said. “He says _I found her_ and keeps repeating _she’s here_.”

“Well, who has he found?”

Artoo screeched.

“Princess Leia.”

“The _princess?_ ” Lucy exclaimed, unsure if she were more thrilled or panicked. “She’s _here?_ ”

Han looked blank. “What princess?”

She could almost have laughed -- all this, and he didn’t even know about Leia! -- but instead, something heavy seemed to have landed in the vicinity of her stomach.

“Where? _Where is she?_ ”

Lucy didn’t care that she’d never seen Leia in person, or that she sounded mildly deranged. She _had_ to find her.

Threepio reported the princess’ location, then added falteringly, “I’m afraid she’s scheduled to be terminated.”

Lucy’s chest clenched. “No! We’ve got to do something!”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“The droid belongs to her -- she’s the one in the message -- we’ve got to help her!”

Han’s expression turned both bewildered _and_ suspicious. “Now look,” he said, “don’t get any funny ideas. The old man wants us to wait right here.”

He threw himself into one of the recently vacated chairs.

“But he didn’t know she was here!”

Han put his feet up on the control panel. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“They’re going to _execute_ her!” She threw him a scornful glance. “Look, a few minutes ago, you said you didn’t want to just wait here to be captured. Now all you want to do is stay?”

“Marching into the detention area is not what I had in mind!”

“But they’re going to _kill_ her!” Lucy shouted.

“Better her than me,” said Han.

Lucy whirled away, desperation eating at her. For a moment, she hated him, hated his smirk and swagger and his total inability to think of anything besides himself. It didn’t even make _sense_. Surely even he had to see that it was far better to die trying to achieve something important, than cowering like womp-rats in a tunnel, whether he got any money for it or not.

Money. The princess. Princesses had money, didn’t they?

Her mouth curved into a small, sly smile and she turned around, seeing that Han had turned his chair away from her and was, to all appearances, sulking. Lucy walked over until she stood just behind him, dropped her hand on his armoured shoulder, and leaned down, her mouth a few inches from his ear.

“She’s rich,” Lucy whispered.

Chewbacca gave an interrogative growl. Han sat up, intrigued, and Lucy took a few hasty steps backwards.

“Rich?”

“Yes,” said Lucy, and he turned to look at her. “Rich . . . powerful . . . listen, if you were to rescue her, the reward would be . . .”

“What?” he said skeptically.

Lucy’s patience came to an abrupt end. “Well, more wealth than you can imagine!”

“I don’t know,” said Han. “I can imagine quite a bit.”

“You’ll get it!”

“I better!”

Lucy smiled, trying not to look too obviously victorious, and assured him, “You will.”

 _Please be rich_ , she thought at the absent princess.

“What’s your plan?” Han asked, lifting a brow.

Lucy glanced around the room, looking for anything --

There.

“Threepio,” she said, “hand me those binders, will you?”

Chewbacca gave a puzzled growl as she tried to wrap the binders around her wrists. Han’s own bemusement cleared away; he got to his feet, looking almost impressed.

“Oh, I think I know what she has in mind,” he told the Wookiee, then took the binders in one hand and pulled her wrists together with the other. Lucy suppressed a shudder of revulsion as the cold metal tightened around her skin, like manacles. “What about Chewie?”

“Um -- put his hands on his head? Maybe you could point your rifle at his back, like --” She tried to gesture, and the binder bit into her skin. “Well, you know.”

Chewbacca muttered to himself, but complied. They told the droids to hide, then Han took a deep breath, put his helmet back on, opened the door, and prodded the girl and the Wookiee forward.

“All right,” he said. “Keep moving, Rebel scum.”

 

* * *

 

 

Han marched Lucy and Chewbacca through the detention center. Officers, stormtroopers, and robots seemed to be bustling everywhere, and none of them seemed to think the sight of a stormtrooper, a giant Wookiee, and a teenage girl merited a second glance.

For her part, Lucy had known that the Starfleet didn’t accept women, but it was one thing to resent a career opportunity being barred to her, and quite another to walk alone amidst a sea of unfriendly men who likely regarded her as about as human as Chewbacca. She had no trouble plastering a look of terror over her face.

Han managed to get them into the elevator without incident, and promptly began complaining again.

“Can you take these off?” Lucy said. “It’ll be less obvious that you’re helping if my hands are behind my back when you release them.”

He muttered to himself, but gave her a minute to rub feeling back into her arms, then re-clasped the binders about her wrists. The elevator’s door slid open, revealing a security station manned by an officer and two troopers.

The officer’s eyes went from Lucy to Chewbacca, his demeanour all but oozing contempt.

“Where are you taking the girl and this . . . _thing?_ ”

“Uh, prisoner transfer,” said Han. “From Block one-one-four . . . uh . . . two.”

“I wasn’t notified,” the officer said doubtfully. “I’ll have to clear it.” He gestured for the troopers to approach Chewbacca, who roared and grabbed Han’s laser rifle.

“Look out, he’s loose!” Han shouted, pretending to hold Lucy in front of him as a shield. The binders fell off and he closed her fingers around a blaster. She spared a moment to wonder exactly how many he’d brought with him, then gave an obliging shriek as Chewbacca menaced them.

“Go get him!” Han told the troopers, lifting his blaster to aim at the Wookiee, then jerking it aside to shoot the officer while Chewbacca throw one of the troopers against the wall. Lucy shot the other one, the blaster only shaking a little. She looked upwards and saw a row of cameras; she lifted the blaster, steadied her grip, and blew them out, one by one.

Another trooper came running in, but Han shot him before Lucy had to. She tried not to look too pathetically grateful.

They ran up to the comlink system. Han quickly checked the readout.

“Here it is,” he said. “Cell twenty-one-eight-seven. You go get her. I’ll hold them here.”

Lucy started down the hallway, peering at the different cells.

“Lucy!” Han screamed. “We’re about to have company!”

She hurried, glancing at each number as quickly as she could. When she reached 2187, she slammed her hand down on the button, and dashed through the doors.

A slim girl in a diaphanous white gown lay curled up on a bench, her dark hair still in neat coils about her ears. She was definitely the girl in the hologram, Lucy thought, staring at her in dazed recognition, and -- and -- and _tiny_ , maybe as short as Lucy, or even smaller.

The princess stirred, waking, then jolted upright, staring at Lucy.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m Lucy Skywalker.” It didn’t seem sufficient, so Lucy added, “I’m here to rescue you.”

“You’re _who?_ ” said Leia.

“I’m here to rescue you,” Lucy said again. “I’ve got your R2 unit. I’m here with Ben Kenobi.”

Belatedly, it occurred to her that Leia hadn’t known him by that name, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.

“Ben Kenobi is here! Where is he?” she asked, and darted out the door without waiting for an answer. Lucy followed her and pointed back towards the entrance.

“Come on,” she said, and they ran up the corridor, where Han was backed up and shooting stormtroopers.

“Can’t get out that way,” said Han.

“Looks like you managed to cut off our only escape route!” Leia said, her tone acid.

Lucy immediately liked her.

Han, on the other hand, glared. “Maybe you’d like it better in your cell, your Highness!”

Lucy bit her tongue. The two girls backed into an alcove while Han continued to exchange fire with the stormtroopers.

“I can’t hold them off forever!” Han shouted. “Now what?”

“This is some rescue,” Leia said disgustedly. “When you came in here, didn’t you have a plan for getting out?”

“ _She’s_ the brains, sweetheart,” said Han.

Lucy flushed. “Well, I didn’t --”

The princess snatched her blaster out of her hands and shot up a grate next to Han’s legs. He yelped.

“What the hell are you _doing?_ ”

“Somebody has to save our skins!” she said, and ran over to the chute, shooting at the approaching stormtroopers all the while. “Into the chute, flyboy!”

She tossed the blaster back at Lucy and jumped inside. Lucy tried to help Han hold back the stormtroopers, shooting as well as she could while he kicked a moaning Chewbacca into the garbage chute.

“Either I’m going to kill her,” Han muttered, “or I’m beginning to like her!”

Lucy’s lips thinned. She felt annoyed, almost angry, without knowing quite why.

“Get in!” he shouted at her, and she ducked the laserfire long enough to jump through, landing in a filthy, smelly mixture of water and garbage. She tried blasting through, then she and Leia both ducked as the shot ricocheted around the walls.

Han fell into one of the larger piles of trash. When Chewbacca began pounding on the door, he turned on Leia.

“Oh, the garbage chute was a really wonderful idea! What an incredible smell you’ve discovered!”

Leia cast a fulminating look at him, but didn’t deign to respond. Han eyed the door.

“Get away from there,” he told Chewie, and raised his blaster.

“No, wait!” said Lucy. He ignored her and shot at the door, sending yet another shot bouncing around the walls. Both girls lifted their heads and glared at him.

“Will you forget it?” Lucy snarled. “I already tried it! It’s magnetically sealed!”

“Put that thing away! You’re going to get us all killed!” added Leia, in exactly the same tone.

Han slowly turned to face the latter, his eyes narrowing. “ _Absolutely_ , your Worship! I had everything under control until you led us down here!”

 _“What?”_ said Lucy.

“You know,” he said, “it’s not going to take them long to find out what happened to us!”

“It could be worse,” snapped Leia.

As if on cue, a low roar emerged from below. Lucy froze, Han and Leia looking around wildly.

“It’s worse,” Han said.


	9. Chapter 9

“There’s something alive in here!” said Lucy, her voice shrill.

Han gave her a look that, somehow, managed to mix alarm and condescension. “That’s just your imagination,” he said.

Something slid by her leg -- not garbage, and certainly not her imagination. Lucy tried to back away.

“Something just moved past my leg!” she cried, and then she saw it, drifting through the water: something that looked disconcertingly like an enormous, dark, slimy tentacle. She pointed. “Did you see that?”

“What?” he said.

Chewie and Leia, however, had seen it as well. The former pounded even more loudly on the hatch and the latter backed up, staring in horror even after the tentacle had vanished. Lucy tried to look everywhere at once.

Again, she felt the slimy touch of a tentacle passing by her leg -- and before she could do more than gasp, a half-dozen more all wrapped around her and yanked her under the water. Lucy tried to hold her breath and fight back at the same time, but the thing’s grip was much stronger than she was. She could do little more than twitch her fingers. Vaguely, as if from a great distance, she heard Han and Leia screaming her name.

Another tentacle tightened around her throat. Lucy thrashed even more, briefly managing to surface.

“Lucy!” shouted Leia, holding a long pipe towards her. “Lucy -- Lucy, grab a hold of this.”

Lucy’s arms wouldn’t come free. She gasped at Han, “Blast it, will you? My gun’s -- jammed --”

“Where?” he said blankly.

 _“Anywhere!”_

He fired, and thankfully didn’t hit her -- but seemed to have missed the creature’s tentacles, as well. Or perhaps he had hit them, and it only enraged it further. In any case, she barely had time for one gulp of air before it tightened its grip and dragged her back underwater.

She kept struggling, but more weakly, and everything seemed oddly hilarious. Dying _underwater!_ Of all the places her life could possibly end, she’d never considered that one. She rather hoped she drowned before the thing started eating her --

Even through the water, she heard the noise, like something grinding. The tentacles relaxed, and then vanished, Lucy bobbing up.

With a gasp of air, she jumped to her feet, trying to blink the filthy garbage water out of her eyes. Han sloshed towards her and grabbed her shoulders. Lucy almost giggled.

“Lucy, are you all right?”

Leia, behind him, was so pale and wide-eyed that _she_ might have been the one who nearly got killed by a tentacle monster. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I don’t know!” Lucy’s amusement slid away with the next few gulps of air. “It just let go of me and disappeared.”

Han’s hands dropped. “I’ve got a _very_ bad feeling about this,” he said, just as they heard another grating sound. They all looked around -- and the walls started to close in on them.

“The _walls are moving!_ ”

She and Han tried to slog their way towards Leia, who reached one hand towards them, then bent down to grab a heavy pole.

“Don’t just stand there!” she screamed. “ _Do_ something!”

Chewbacca pushed back against the wall, even his strength doing nothing to stop the slow, inexorable compression. Han managed to lift Leia’s pole, bracing it between the walls, while Lucy searched through the trash for anything that might keep them from being killed in this new and different way. She looked up desperately at Han and Leia -- and saw the black comlink wrapped around Han’s wrist.

“Han! The droids! Get the droids to stop it!”

His eyes widened and he shifted the weight of the pole to one hand, Lucy dragging herself over to help him and Leia hold it up.

“Threepio!” he shouted. “Come in, Threepio! _Threepio!_ ”

There was no reply from the comlink. All three looked at one another in horror, Chewie giving a mournful howl. The trash and water continued to rise, creeping up to Lucy’s and Leia’s waists. The pole bent upwards, beyond the girls’ reach.

“Get to the top!” Han told them, gesturing at the nearest garbage pile.

“I can’t!” said Leia. Lucy just shook her head.

“Where is he?” Han muttered. “Threepio! Threepio, come in!”

The pole completely bent between the crushing walls. Lucy and Leia pushed their backs against one wall as they tried to scramble atop the garbage. With another lurch of the room, Leia lost her balance. Lucy instinctively grabbed her wrist and they both fell back down.

“One thing’s for sure,” he said, grabbing their waists and half-lifting them up. “We’re all going to be a lot thinner. Get on top of it!”

“We’re _trying_!” Leia said.

The walls gave another creak and moved in. They were less than two yards apart now, Lucy’s and Leia’s feet pressed against the opposite wall. Then the comlink buzzed.

“Are you there, sir?” said Threepio.

“Threepio!” they shouted.

“We’ve had some problems,” the droid began, in his usual fussy way.

“Shut up and listen to me!” said Han, then gasped as the walls shuddered even closer. “Shut down all garbage mashers on the detention level, you hear me? _Shut down all garbage mashers on the detention level!_ ”

They just heard the droid say, “No, shut them all down!” and then, with a rough scrape of metal, the walls stopped moving. They waited, half-expecting to be smashed into goop, but the room remained immobile. Chewie roared and Han and Lucy hollered with relief. Leia hugged Lucy and then Han, all of them torn between laughing and shouting and nearly crying.

“Listen to them!” wailed Threepio. “They’re dying, Artoo! Curse my metal body! I wasn’t fast enough. It’s all my fault -- my poor mistress!”

Lucy, nearly giggling and sobbing at the same time, grabbed Han’s wrist. “No, we’re all right! Threepio, we’re all right! You did great!”

They gave him the number to the pressure maintenance hatch, which promptly opened, and crawled out into what thankfully seemed to be an unused hallway. Han stripped off his stormtrooper armor, and Lucy and Leia did their best to wring out their clothes and hair.

Han threw his blaster belt at Lucy. “Put this on. You’ll probably need it,” he said, and tossed her the blaster she’d lost, for good measure. “Now, if we can just avoid any more female advice --” he scowled at them both -- “we ought to be able to get out of here.”

Leia, tightening her coils of hair, glared. Lucy’s eyes narrowed, and she pointedly turned towards the princess, her back to Han.

“Let’s get moving,” she said to her.

Chewbacca growled, pointed to the raised hatch, and hurried away.

“Where are you going?” Han demanded, then muttered to himself and raised his blaster.

Leia’s eyes widened. “No, wait! They’ll hear!” she shouted.

Han ignored her and pulled the trigger, the blast resounding through the hallway as it bounced around the compactor. Lucy’s jaw twitched and she lifted her gaze to the ceiling, biting back another diatribe.

Leia had no such compunctions. “Listen,” she said, her voice dangerously soft, “I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, but from _now on_ , you’ll do as I tell you, okay?”

Lucy’s eyes went from Leia’s livid face to Han’s shocked one, and she took a prudent step backwards. She suspected they’d rescued the only woman in the galaxy likely to annoy Han more than _she_ did.

Leia turned on her heel and strode past, Han’s mouth dropping open. Lucy grinned, and followed after them.

“Look, your Worshipfulness,” he snapped, poking a finger towards her while Lucy glanced back to make sure the hall was still clear, “let’s get one thing straight. I take orders from one person! Me!”

Leia didn’t even look at him. “Hm. It’s a wonder you’re still alive,” she said, and glared up at Chewbacca. “Will somebody get this big walking carpet out of my way?”

She hurried on, leaving Han to exchange a long-suffering glance with Chewie.

“No reward is worth this,” he muttered. Lucy couldn’t help but frown and smile at the same time, unsure of the reason for either.

The four of them made their way down the hall, and stopped at a window overlooking the hangar. They could clearly make out the _Falcon_ , and easily a half-dozen stormtroopers milling around it.

“There she is,” Han said, and handed his comlink to Lucy, then peered around the corner.

“Threepio? Do you copy? Are you safe?” she asked.

“For the moment, ma’am,” said the droid nervously, and gave their location.

“We’re right above you -- stand by,” said Lucy, while Leia stared at the _Millennium Falcon_ in some awe.

“You came in that thing?” she said, touching Han’s elbow and pointing at his ship. “You’re braver than I thought!”

Lucy’s mouth twitched. Han just shook his head.

“Nice. Come on.”

They ran after him -- and into a group of stormtroopers, who raised their blasters, but not before Han shot one of them.

“Get back to the ship!” he shouted at Lucy and Leia, and he and Chewie took off after the stormtroopers.

“Where are you going? Come back!” said Lucy, wondering how she, of all people, had become the resident voice of reason. He either didn’t hear her or ignored her; both options seemed about equally probable.

“Well,” said Leia, a little admiringly, “he certainly has courage.”

“What good will it do us if he gets himself killed?” Lucy tightened her grip on her blaster. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that _she’d_ be the one protecting the princess while Han all but threw his life away. She let out a short, exasperated breath and grabbed Leia’s hand. “Come on.”

They took off down the hall, running right past another group of stormtroopers, who promptly chased after them. Lucy and Leia darted around a corner and through an open hatchway, almost tumbling into the abyss below.

“I think we took a wrong turn!” said Lucy.

Laser fire blasted past them. Lucy shot back while Leia fumbled at the control panel, lowering the hatch behind them. The next volley of shots bounced off the door.

“There’s no lock!” cried Leia, throwing her hands up. Lucy grabbed her hand and pulled her away, shooting the control panel. She couldn’t help but keep her fingers laced through Leia’s.

“That ought to hold it for awhile.”

The princess looked at the hatchway opposite them. “Quick, we’ve got to get across! Find the control that extends the bridge!”

“I think I just blasted it,” said Lucy.

Leia looked back. “They’re coming through!”

They looked desperately around, Lucy’s eyes falling on four heavy devices hanging above them and then down to the cable at her belt -- and another round of blaster fire flew right past her. A stormtrooper was shooting at them from a ledge higher up. Leia backed into the corner while Lucy shot back, trying to aim, shield the princess with her body, and duck the troopers’ fire, all at the same time. Her blood was pulsing in her head.

One of the stormtroopers fell, and the others backed away. Lucy glanced at Leia. It might work; at any rate, she was convinced that Leia could shoot every bit as well as she could.

“Here, take this,” she said, shoving the blaster into Leia’s arms, and took out the nylon cable from her belt. There was a grappler hook attached to the end of it. Lucy tugged as fast as she could, trying to ignore another stormtrooper shooting at them, his fire passing right over her head. Leia kept shooting, and the hatch behind them started to rise.

“Here they come!” she shouted.

Lucy hoped she had long enough cable -- and good enough aim. She flung it upwards, doing her best to _will_ the hook to wrap around one of the devices above.

It did, and Lucy looked at Leia. She’d grown up on a farm; she might be small, but she was strong. She’d just better be strong enough.

Leia clearly understood her plan. She put an arm around her neck and looked at her, their faces so close that Lucy saw every fleck in Leia’s dark eyes, as wide as her own. She could feel their hearts racing together.

“I’ve been a prisoner of the Empire for six weeks,” the princess said with her usual bravado, even though her voice shook. “I’m not heavy.”

Lucy nodded, took a deep breath, wrapped her right arm tightly around Leia’s waist, and jumped. Their momentum swung them across the abyss, Lucy’s fingers digging into Leia’s side. _She can’t fall, she can’t fall, she can’t fall --_

Their booted feet landed on the opposite ledge even as the hatch they’d been standing by opened, letting the stormtroopers through. Leia fired another shot and then they fled down the new corridor.

They managed to find their way this time, running into the main forward bay, where Han and Chewbacca were waiting for them.

“What kept you?” Han snapped.

Leia handed the blaster back to Lucy. “We, ah, ran into some old friends.”

“Is the ship all right?” said Lucy.

“Seems okay,” Han said, “if we can get to it. Just hope the old man got the tractor beam out of commission.”

They stared out at the ship, then gasped as the stormtroopers hurried off, towards something beyond their narrow frame of vision.

“Now’s our chance,” Han hissed at them. “Go!”

They darted into the hangar, glancing over to see what had drawn the stormtroopers away: Obi-Wan Kenobi, his lightsaber ignited, fighting a towering, black-armored cyborg. Lucy’s eyes fell on the cyborg’s crimson lightsaber, and she instantly knew who he must be: Darth Vader, traitor, murderer, and fallen Jedi.

“Ben!” Lucy stepped towards the two Jedi. She didn’t care if she attracted the stormtroopers’ attention, or even Vader’s. Obi-Wan was all she had left now. It wasn’t -- he couldn’t --

Obi-Wan’s eyes went from her to Vader, and then, impossibly, he smiled. He dropped his guard, raising his lightsaber towards his forehead. Vader’s sliced straight through his body, leaving only the old Jedi’s weapon and a crumpled heap of robes.

 _“No!”_ Lucy screamed, and the stormtroopers wheeled around to start shooting them. Han and Leia, behind her, seemed to be hurrying towards the ship. She didn’t care. Lucy lifted her blaster and shot at every stormtrooper she saw, satisfied, almost gleeful when any of them fell. They’d taken him, taken _everyone_ , they should all pay --

“Come on!” said Han. Lucy hardly heard him and kept shooting.

“Lucy!” Leia shouted. “ _Come on!_ It’s too late!”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, and then back at the stormtroopers.

“Blast the door, girl!” Han said, his voice hoarse. Lucy hesitated for a moment, then altered her aim to hit the control panel. The door narrowed and closed, blocking Darth Vader from sight, and leaving only a handful of stormtroopers. Her mouth curled into a smile and she advanced towards them, lifting her blaster once more.

Then, impossibly, she heard Obi-Wan’s voice in her ear. “Run, Lucy! _Run!_ ”

Lucy fired one more shot and turned back to the _Falcon_ , ducking the remaining stormtroopers’ fire as she hurried up the ramp. Han and Chewie ran into the cockpit and she stood in place, feeling dazed and somehow drained. She made her way over to the game board, where Artoo and Chewbacca had played while Obi-Wan oversaw her exercises, and sat down. She was only vaguely aware of the ship taking off.

Lucy stared at the patterns of the board, tracing them with one fingernail. Threepio watched her and Artoo gave a small, wistful whirr.

A blanket fell over her shoulders. It pulled her out of her daze, a little, and she looked up to see Leia, quite possibly the least nurturing woman she’d ever met. The princess sat beside her and absently rubbed her back.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” said Lucy.

Leia gave a decided shake of her head. “There wasn’t anything you could have done,” she told her, her voice very gentle. Almost as if she knew exactly how Lucy felt, as if she’d experienced it herself --

Alderaan. _Alderaan._ The girl trying to console her had lived through the destruction of her entire planet. Maybe she’d even seen it.

Stunned, Lucy lifted her eyes up. Before she could say anything -- _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ \-- or even look at Leia, Han jogged towards the doorway and leaned against it.

“Lucy. Take any after your old man?”

“What?” said Leia.

Lucy’s brow furrowed. Then she realized that if her father had been the best starpilot in the galaxy, as -- as Obi-Wan had told her, it _was_ possible that people might have actually heard of him.

“Plenty,” she said. “What --”

Han grinned. “Then come on, sweetheart, we’re not out of this yet.”

Both girls sprang up, adrenaline replacing melancholy, and hurried after him. Leia rushed to the cockpit, while Lucy climbed down the ladder, towards the gunports. She all but threw herself into one of the chairs, pulling a headset over her ears.

“You in, girl?” he asked. “Stay sharp!”

She tightened her hands on the controls. This wasn’t like womp rats back home.

Except, in an odd way, it was _exactly_ like womp rats back home. Lucy checked her controls, then watched four Imperial ships dive towards them, and swung to aim at them. Her computer couldn’t seem to track them.

“They’re coming in too fast!”

The ship gave a small shudder.

“We’ve lost lateral controls!” Leia cried.

“Don’t worry, she’ll hold together,” said Han. There was a sound very much like sparks, and he muttered, “You hear me, baby? _Hold together._ ”

Despite everything, Lucy grinned. They kept shooting, and Han laughed as one of the Imperial fighters burst into flames. Lucy saw another dart her way, swivelled towards it, and smiled. She fired the laser cannon, and the fighter exploded. She gave a shout of glee.

“I got him!”

“Great, little girl!” Han replied, and for once she didn’t mind, just grinned wider. “Don’t get cocky!”

“There’s still two more of them out there,” Leia said.

Han and Lucy kept shooting, Lucy blasting one of them out of the sky, and a few seconds later, Han taking out the other.

“That’s it! We did it,” she cried, laughing at the sound of Leia and Chewbacca cheering while Han gave a clearly audible sigh of relief. Lucy yanked off her headset and made her way to the cockpit.

She could just hear Leia’s voice, back to its usual low, furious tones.

“-- all that you love,” the princess was saying, “then that’s what you’ll receive!” She jumped up and nearly ran into Lucy.

“Your friend is quite a mercenary,” Leia told her. “I wonder if he really cares about anything -- or anybody.”

Lucy blinked, unsure what to protest first. Han wasn’t her friend -- or was he? She felt half-inclined to defend him, and half to rail against him herself. She bit her lip, and could only say, “ _I_ care.”

Leia stormed out and Lucy, climbing into the chair Leia had vacated, glanced uncertainly at Han.

He _was_ brave, she thought, just like Leia had said. Before whatever had just happened. And for all his brash talk, he’d been . . . not nice, but . . . _something_. She felt fairly certain he did care about things besides money. About _people_ , like -- like -- people.

“So,” she said, her hands twisting together. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Um. What do you think of her, Han?”

He fiddled with some controls. “I try not to.”

Lucy smiled to herself. _Good_ , she thought, and blushed. She didn’t notice Han looking at her, or the amused twitch of his mouth.

“Still,” he added, “she’s got a lot of spirit. I don’t know, what do _you_ think?” He shrugged. “Do you think a princess and a guy like me -- ”

“No!”

Han stared, then grinned at her. After a brief moment of pique, Lucy couldn’t help but smile back.

“So,” Han drawled, mimicking her earlier earnest expression, “What are you going to do now? _You_ didn’t get caught up in this for any reward.”

She turned an even deeper shade of red. “I want to fly,” she said. “My friend Biggs was going to join up and -- well, it’s what we’ve always wanted, really.”

“Huh,” said Han, his gaze returning back to the viewscreen. “Pity.”


	10. Chapter 10

The _Falcon_ managed to reach the Rebel base at Massassi without any further excitement. Leia draped the blanket around Lucy’s shoulders again, ignoring her protests, and all six of them clattered down the ramp. Several Rebel troops approached.

It struck her that they were still radiating the same scent they’d picked up a few hours ago: garbage compactor. Lucy cringed.

The troops had either too much courtesy, or fearful respect of Leia, to mention it, and simply provided an armored speeder to take them to the hangar. Lucy tried to take in everything, but her eyelids kept drifting shut. Leia perched on the edge of the speeder, stiffly upright, and Han yawned.

The speeder came to a halt just as a silver-haired man caught sight of Leia. She jumped off and his remote expression turned warm. He strode over and embraced her, paying no more attention to her soaked, filthy gown than anyone else had shown.

“You’re safe,” he said, with very evident relief. Leia kissed his cheek. “When we heard about Alderaan, we feared the worst.”

Leia, despite the kiss, was as unflinching as ever. “We have no time for sorrows, Commander,” she said briskly. Lucy, who had taken a few nervous steps backward, stared at her in awe. Tatooine was harsh enough, but she couldn’t even imagine the kind of environment that must have forged Leia.

The Empire, she supposed.

“-- to plan the attack,” Leia was saying. “It’s our only hope.”

The commander nodded. “We’ll plug him in right away,” he said, and gave the orders to a group of soldiers nearby, then glanced at Leia’s organic companions. She gestured for them to approach, and grasped Lucy’s elbow.

“This is Lucy Skywalker and Han --”

“Solo,” said Han.

“Solo,” Leia repeated. “They rescued me from the Death Star, at considerable risk to themselves. Lucy, Han, this is Commander Willard, a very close friend of my family’s.”

Willard, after one startled look, bowed to them both. “The Rebellion is indebted to you both. You will, of course, be rewarded.”

“Thanks,” said Han.

“I don’t need a reward,” said Lucy.

Willard smiled and offered every hospitality the Rebellion could provide, for the duration of their stay. “We’ll have quarters prepared for your both,” he said.

“No,” said Leia quickly. Her composed expression didn’t falter in the slightest, but her fingers dug into Lucy's arm. “That shouldn’t be necessary. Lucy will stay with me, and . . . Captain Solo will be leaving anyway. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah,” said Han.

Lucy was glad her sleeves were so thick. “If you’d like,” she said, bewildered -- until it occurred to her that hers was probably the first sympathetic face Leia had seen in her weeks onboard the Death Star. Certainly the first since the destruction of Alderaan. She tried to wipe every trace of pity off her face.

“I see,” said Willard, plainly not seeing.

Leia wrinkled her nose. “You’ll have to excuse us. We escaped through a garbage compactor,” she announced.

“Of course.” He seemed entirely unfazed by this. Lucy supposed a Rebel leader must be used to this sort of thing. “The debriefing’s in two hours, if you -- "

“I’ll be there,” said the princess, and marched off, dragging Lucy after her.

 

* * *

 

Leia almost breathed a sigh of relief when the doors slid closed behind them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been properly alone with another person. Alone and _safe_ : lying in a cell on the Death Star, awaiting her execution, hardly counted.

Her mind skittered away from her weeks on the Death Star. She couldn’t afford to think about that, not when there was so much to be done. There would be time for grief later -- or, perhaps more probably, there would be no time at all, but Leia was an optimist.

Of sorts.

She had no patience for useless fatalism, at any rate. Simply _letting_ the worst happen to you in the conviction that it was inevitable anyway struck her as a sort of moral laziness. The future wouldn’t look after itself; you had to hope and fight for what you wanted to see. Expect that you could make it happen. Leia lived with the intention of succeeding at everything she did; when she failed, it wasn’t because of any failure of effort on her part.

Lucy cleared her throat. Out of habit, Leia tilted her head back to meet -- the air above Lucy’s head. Leia smiled and dropped her gaze to Lucy’s, the blue eyes level with her own.

“I -- I’m really sorry,” Lucy said, turning red, “I know I shouldn’t bother you, but could I borrow some clothes? I don’t know any other women and the stormtroopers burned my house.”

“I . . . what?” said Leia.

“When they came looking for the droids. They destroyed everything.”

It took her a moment to put it all together. Then Leia stared at her, horrified. She’d ejected the droids, sent Artoo to find General Kenobi; instead, they’d somehow ended up with Lucy, and stormtroopers had tracked them to her doorstep. Nothing could have survived their search; Lucy quite literally had nothing but the clothes on her back. She was just lucky she hadn’t been home.

“I’m sorry,” Leia said, knowing the words sounded cold and dispassionate, even as guilt burned in her gut. _I never meant this to happen. I never meant -- I’m so sorry._ She forced herself to relax her grip on the other girl. “If you can wait for me to bathe, I’ll find you something.”

Lucy nodded. Twenty minutes later, after Leia had scrubbed every bit of garbage off her skin, dressed, and incinerated her robes, the princess emerged to find her standing exactly where she’d left her.

Lucy took a tentative step forward, then stopped. “I don’t -- I just meant to ask if you could spare any clothes, until I can get my own. I don’t want to . . . I’m filthy.”

“I know -- that’s why _you’re_ going to take a bath now,” said Leia. She overrode Lucy’s inarticulate protests and dragged her to the bathroom, ordering her to disrobe while she ran another bath. Lucy had only unbuckled the stormtrooper belt, however, when she froze, gaping at the water gushing out of the faucets.

“You can undress behind that curtain, if you want,” Leia told her, then remembered just where Lucy’s destroyed home had been. “Oh! Do you mind water? There’s a sonic shower, if you’d rather --”

“No!” Lucy exclaimed, then flushed again. “I mean. I, ah, I don’t mind. It’s just -- on Tatooine, I could buy a house with that much water. Just washing my hands, back on the _Falcon_ , felt . . . decadent, I guess.”

Leia blinked down at the water. She’d been raised to be conscious of the privileges of wealth, but she couldn’t say she’d ever considered _water_ one of them. Lucy reached out, then snatched her fingers back, looking embarrassed.

“I’ll go look for some clothes,” said Leia. “You can put yours . . . um . . . are you attached to them?”

Lucy laughed. “No,” she said, taking two cautious steps towards the tub and peering inside, her fingers closing on the rim. “I didn’t even usually wear these, but skirts aren’t practical for wandering around the Jundland Wastes.”

“Right,” said Leia, in perfect incomprehension. “Just call for me when you’re ready, okay? And scream if you start drowning.”

She left Lucy to work herself up to using what appeared to be a small fortune by Tatooine standards, and raided her wardrobe for clothes. It was almost a relief, to occupy her mind with something so trivial -- though, of course, it was hardly trivial when you didn’t have any. Leia dug through her drawers, trying to imagine how much an ordinary girl, or at least a girl brought up in ordinary circumstances, would even want.

 _A dozen sets should be fine_ , Leia thought. _We can buy more later. We’ll both need things that fit properly, anyway._

Lucy had said something about not wanting to bother her, but Leia ignored that. It never even occurred to her that the niece of a Tatooine moisture farmer might not expect to be welcomed by a princess. If it _had_ occurred to her, Leia would have dismissed the thought immediately. Thanks, in some part, to Leia’s actions, Lucy had lost her home and nearly everything she owned, and she’d responded by risking her life to save her.

Han had done nearly as much, but he hadn’t lost anything to the Rebellion -- and besides, he was quite happy to be paid in money. Lucy couldn’t be repaid at all, but Leia could at least provide for her, take her under her wing. It wouldn’t be a burden: would never have been, probably, but certainly not now, when Leia had no one left but generals and handmaidens. She’d like a companion -- and she liked taking care of people -- and she liked Lucy herself, without even much knowing her.

Well, she knew enough. Lucy had more than proven herself in the few hours they’d known each other, and besides, they’d crammed more living into those hours than most friends did in a decade. It was only natural to feel a certain camaraderie -- there were just some things that people couldn’t live through without becoming friends. Leia suspected that escaping a planet-destroying battle station was one of them.

She preferred not to think what that would imply about Han Solo. He wasn’t . . . he wasn’t like Lucy. Where Lucy shared Leia’s allegiance to the Rebellion, all her ideals and convictions, Han had no loyalty to anything other than himself. He couldn’t be trusted, and next to that, nothing else mattered.

“Princess?”

Leia started up. “Are you done? If you are, there should be two buttons on your left -- the top one will drain the water, and the lower one will dry you off.”

“Um -- all right.” There was silence, then a faint _whoosh_ accompanied by a yelp of surprise. Leia brought her a robe and undergarments, averting her eyes while Lucy dressed. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she could have just as easily summoned one of her handmaidens to do all this. She just didn’t -- Leia paused. She felt something odd around Lucy, a sense of . . . familiarity, almost, of belonging. She didn’t want anyone else looking after Lucy, and she didn’t want anyone else near her right now.

“I -- I didn’t expect you to take so much trouble, L -- Princess Leia,” Lucy said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Leia noticed idly that it was as long and heavy as her own, and wet, looked almost dark.

“I think we’ve been through enough together to use first names,” she said. “Though I suppose I could call you _Miss Skywalker_ if you’d like.”

“No, I -- Lucy is fine,” she said, and gave a nervous laugh. “Leia.”

Leia led her out to the main chamber, chattering all the while. She didn’t think she could bear any silence between herself and another person, or any mention of -- things she couldn’t think about. Lucy seemed inclined to be quiet, but Leia kept talking anyway.

“-- and here’s the mirror, I thought you might want to hold them up to your face or something. I didn’t know if you had any particular preferences about colour, or . . . Well, I had no idea about anything, so I thought you could just choose for yourself.” Leia threw the doors open wide.

“I . . . I’m not picky, really,” said Lucy, blinking at her reflection. “Anything you don’t want should be fine.”

“I can’t say I particularly want any of these. It’s not my . . . it doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Oh.” Lucy smiled. “I like black and white. And red. And blue. And yellow. But I’ll be happy with anything that fits.”

“That shouldn’t be hard. We’re nearly the same height, and --” Leia, holding an olive-green dress up to Lucy’s face, paused in front of the mirror. By some coincidence, their postures were identical at their moment -- spines straight, shoulders thrown back, chins lifted a little -- and she could see that the crown of her dark head was just about level with Lucy’s. She didn’t think there was a quarter-inch of difference between them. “Actually, we _are_ the same height. And about the same size, too.”

For a moment, they just stared at the mirror, inexplicably arrested by their paired reflections. It wasn’t as if they even resembled each other that much: just big eyes and high cheekbones and soft chins, and even those were different -- Lucy’s eyes a clear blue where Leia’s were dark, her tanned skin drawn tight over the cheekbones where Leia’s cheeks were pale and round, a cleft in her chin where Leia’s was smooth. They were just _shaped_ the same, like the same outline filled in with different colours.

“You’re thinner than I am, I think,” said Lucy, her expression at once gratified and unsettled.

“I’ve lost some weight,” Leia said lightly. “I imagine you’re closer to my size than I am -- we’ll both need new clothes. I don’t really like brown, do you?”

Lucy opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“Not really,” she said, and glanced at the pile of gowns strewn across Leia’s bed. “The white dress is pretty.”

“Which one?”

 

* * *

 

 

Chewie had taken a much-needed nap after their arrival. When he woke up, four hours later, he immediately asked where Lucy had gotten herself to. Han scowled.

“How would I know?”

The Wookiee promptly listed seven reasons why Han _should_ have some idea where Lucy had gone. She was their friend, after all -- and quite evidently incapable of looking after herself.

“Aw, hell, I don’t know,” Han muttered. “Her royal princessness dragged her off and I haven’t seen her since. They’re probably sitting around gabbing about whatever it is that women talk about. Hair or something.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ow!” said Lucy.

Leia yanked a comb through her hair. “Sorry,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve only combed my own hair a few dozen times in my life, and never anyone else’s.”

“It’s all right,” said Lucy, wincing. “I wouldn’t be much better -- my aunt always did mine.”

Leia glanced over Lucy’s head, meeting her own reflected eyes. “Your aunt? You have family?”

“Not any more. The stormtroopers killed them,” said Lucy. The comb stopped moving for a moment, and she dared to move her head, looking up into the mirror. She didn’t need the Force to read the princess’ pale, stricken face. “It’s not your fault, Leia.”

“I didn’t realize that anything -- but I should have. I _should_ have known,” Leia said, more to herself than to Lucy.

“Ben -- General Kenobi to you -- said it’s impossible to anticipate everything,” Lucy told her. “Even for someone with as much wisdom and experience as he had. You can’t be that much older than I am. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’ll be eighteen on Empire Day,” Leia admitted. “Repulsively enough.”

Lucy blinked at their reflections. “That’s funny,” was all she said, before shaking her head. “Who managed your hair? Your handmaidens?”

“Mm-hmm.” Leia hit another tangle and grimaced. “Your hair must be as thick as mine. It’s miserable to keep up, isn’t it? I’d have chopped all mine off ages ago if I didn’t have people to help me with it, and Al -- _I_ wasn’t living in a desert.”

“It’s horrible,” Lucy said hastily. “We didn’t have time to brush it more than a few times a week and I didn’t want it like my -- didn’t want it short. If I hadn’t put it up somehow, I’d have probably passed out from the heat.” She considered Leia’s dark coils of hair. “I never thought of putting it over my _ears_ , though.”

“I wanted something that made me look like a senator, but wouldn’t get in my way when I got into trouble,” said Leia. “I found it on some old holos, from before the Empire –- one of my father’s friends in the Senate wore hers like this sometimes. I always admired her, so it seemed a nice tribute, too.”

Lucy felt a prickle of interest. “Oh, who was she?”

“Senator Amidala.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Amidala?”

“You’ve heard of her?” Leia seemed to be trying to look unsurprised.

“No, never. It’s just . . . that’s my name. Lucy Amidala. I suppose my mother must have admired her too, or something. What was she like?”

“She was one of the youngest senators in history,” Leia replied instantly, “and she was one of the first people to oppose the Emperor, even though she helped put him into power in the first place. She died about the same time as the fall of the Republic, though, so nobody really hears about her.” She frowned. “Nobody knows how she died, either, just that she was pregnant. I wouldn’t be surprised if _he_ had something to do with it.”

“I don’t know much about the old Republic, except the wars, but she sounds impressive,” said Lucy. “The Emperor started as a senator himself, didn’t he?”

“Yes. In fact, he was originally the senator for Amidala’s own constituency. They came from the same place, and he mentored her when she was a girl and helped her with her early career.”

“That sounds . . . horrifyingly creepy,” said Lucy. “So how did he end up becoming Emperor, anyway?”

Leia made herself comfortable. “Well, it started with the blockade of Naboo by the Trade Federation, when Palpatine was still Senator -- ”

“Wait, what’s a trade federation?”


	11. Chapter 11

From politics, it was an easy step to silence. Leia, for once, didn’t seem to mind the quiet, and she didn’t kick Lucy out either -- or let her leave. Lucy didn’t mind.

She couldn’t say she was less in awe of the princess. The realization that Leia was a seventeen-year-old girl who liked fancy clothes, voiced every thought that crossed her mind, and dreamed of more than the galaxy had seen fit to give her -- a girl, that was, not unlike Lucy herself -- only made her _more_ extraordinary, not less so.

But it also made her more comfortable to be around. Lucy went from standing stiffly in a borrowed robe, staring at the mirror, to perched on the corner of Leia’s bed, uncomfortable in a flowing white gown that caught the calluses on her fingers, to sprawled across the bed while Leia slouched in a small, uncomfortable-looking chair that still seemed like a throne when she sat in it.

For awhile, Lucy had been afraid that she’d overstayed her welcome. But now that they weren’t busy with stormtroopers and bottomless abysses and so forth, Lucy had the distinct impression that Leia didn’t just appreciate her help, but actually _liked_ her, and enjoyed her company. In any case, the princess seemed to take a distinct pleasure in fussing over her, and Lucy could tell that she didn’t really want to be alone.

Lucy understood that. She hadn’t been alone since she’d buried her family, and she had no intentions of being so. And her grief could only be the tiniest fraction of Leia’s. So she stayed, her chin on her hands, readily entering into conversation and just as readily falling into comfortable silence. Leia’s meeting -- well, everyone’s -- was still twenty minutes away.

Lucy was dozing, and Leia just about to talk her awake, when what sounded like an entire raiding party pounded on the door. Lucy instantly jerked upright, her eyes half-wild and her hand curling around her lightsaber even when she smacked her head on the bedpost. Leia sprang to her feet almost as quickly and considerably more smoothly.

The thing on the other side of the door gave a familiar low roar.

“Chewie?” said Lucy. Leia sighed and lowered her blaster.

“I think we have guests,” she said, and opened the door. Han and Chewbacca stood there, the former scowling and the latter doing his best to loom over her. It was a very impressive loom, Lucy thought, sleepily hooking her sword back on her belt, but it hardly seemed like a seven-foot Wookiee needed to put _that_ much effort into dwarfing a five-foot princess. She rubbed her head.

“Captain Solo,” Leia said, her tone rich with disdain. Lucy wondered if she’d had to learn to do that, or if it just came naturally. “What do you want?”

“Nice to see you too,” drawled Han, his grin wide and humourless. “Don’t worry, your Wonderfulness, I’m not here to bother you.”

“Then you’ve already failed,” Leia said. “Amazing, even for you.”

“Look, _Princess_ , I didn’t --”

Lucy yawned, and they both turned to look at her.

“Sorry,” she said. “Keep going, it’s terribly interesting. Isn’t it, Chewie?"

The Wookiee grumbled.

“Oh, all right,” said Leia. “You’re here to see Lucy, aren’t you? Fine, come in. Just keep that thing from shedding on my carpet.”

Lucy winced, sitting on the foot of the bed, and Leia threw herself back in her chair.

“Nice digs,” Han observed, leaning against the doorframe. “Really makes a man feel welcome.”

Leia rolled her eyes. “So you came to tell me that my _personal quarters_ don’t meet your highly erudite standards of interior decorating? I’m devastated.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” said Han. “Chewie’s the one who insisted. Wanted to make sure Lucy hadn’t fallen into a well or something.”

“I don’t think there are any wells here,” Lucy told him, then smiled at the Wookiee. “But thanks, Chewie. See, I’m all right. Leia’s just been helping me settle in.”

Han folded his arms. “Settle into what?” he demanded. “Giving rousing speeches? They’ve got _her_ for that.” He jerked his head at the princess.

“Excuse me?” said Leia, her voice freezing still further. Lucy hadn’t known it was possible.

“What are you talking about?” she asked Han.

“You found your glorious Rebellion and turned over your plans and everything’s going to be just fine, right? Is that what you think? Because --”

“There’s a battle station with unlimited firepower headed straight for us,” said Lucy, “so that’d be a no.”

Han ignored this. “I’ve been taking a look around,” he said. Leia’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, don’t worry, Highness. I’m not a rat. I just figured I should see what kind of mess Lucy’s got herself into.”

“How selfless,” said Leia. “I’d never have thought it of you.”

“I can take care of myself, Han,” Lucy added crossly. She rubbed her throbbing head.

Han’s slow, mocking smile was considerably more genuine this time. “ ’Course you can. The two of you’d never rush into anything dangerous without thinking.”

“You’re hardly one to talk!” Lucy cried. “You’re the one that just went around blasting everything in sight. _We_ had to come up with all the plans!”

Chewbacca’s roar contained a distinct note of amusement.

“Hey,” Han snapped at his friend, “I was in a hurry. I didn’t have time to come up with anything else.” He turned back to Lucy. “Look, Lucy, the point is that I’ve been knocking around the galaxy as long as you’ve been alive. I get myself into trouble, I can get myself _out_ again. I don’t end up in cells waiting to be executed. And I didn’t pick up my ideas about people from watching the damn HoloNet.”

“We didn’t get the HoloNet on the farm, actually,” said Lucy. “I had to go all the way to Anchorhead just to hear the news.”

Han’s jaw twitched. Leia grinned.

“Well, _that’s_ just great. Forget everything I said! Who needs experience when you can learn everything you need to know from seventeen years cooped up on a moisture farm?”

“I wasn’t --” Lucy began, then bit her lip. She tried again. “Han, you can call me _little girl_ all you want, but that won’t make it true. I’m not a child and you’re not my father. You don’t need to protect me.”

Han sputtered. “To _protect_ \-- I wasn’t -- I don’t -- your _what?_ Believe me, Lucy, I don’t . . . no. Just, _no._ I had some extra time, figured I’d see what you were getting yourself into. Friends do that kind of thing, okay? Watch each others’ backs. Doesn’t mean I’m some kind of white knight.”

Lucy’s face softened; even Leia’s did, a little.

“Oh. Well, I --”

“And let me tell you,” he went on, “you’re right. These _are_ nice people. Crazy, of course, but real, real nice. Not the kind of people who’d stick a girl behind the controls of an X-Wing and hope for the best, you know?”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“Yes, Captain Solo,” said Leia, her fingers tight on the arms of her chair. “What _are_ you talking about?”

“I’m a simple man,” Han replied. “Haven’t got much to say to the brass, but I went around, talked to the pilots. More my type -- nice guys, but at least they talk like normal people.” He looked over at Leia. “You don’t need to worry, Princess. They’re as suicidal as the rest of you. Just wish they ever saw any women. Apart from you, of course.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Leia impatiently. “Of course there are other women.”

“At the computers? Pilots don’t see them. It’s a big day when they get to _hear_ one over the intercom.”

“Wait,” Lucy said. “You mean, there aren’t any women pilots? Any _at all?_ ”

Han shrugged. “See for yourself. I’ve got a reward to collect,” he said, and nodded at them. “I’ll see you around, Lucy. Princess.”

As soon as he’d slouched out, trailed by the omnipresent Chewbacca, Leia turned to Lucy. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll find some use for your skills.”

Lucy’s eyes were still wide. “I don’t _have_ other skills,” she said. “Unless you want vaporators repaired. Maybe if Ben had lived, it’d be different, but I hardly know anything about being a Jedi. Flying is what I _do._ I can’t just waste my most useful ability because --”

Leia, for the first time since Lucy had met her, looked torn. She walked to the window on the other side of the room, hands clasped behind her back.

“I’m quite a good pilot myself, you know,” she said, her voice oddly distant. “Almost as good as you and Han. Flying always came easily to me, but I didn’t have many chances to practice. My father didn’t like it, and there were so many more important things I had to learn. Not that it matters. I couldn’t be risked in battle anyway -- especially not now. But even if I were no one in particular, it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“I didn’t know you could fly,” said Lucy awkwardly.

“It’s not a vocation,” Leia said. “Just a skill I’ve never much honed. I have other things to do, important things. More important than anything I could do in an X-Wing.”

“I don’t,” said Lucy, and felt almost as if she were falling back into her own life, caged in while restlessness ate at her. All the old furious resentment seemed to be sliding back into her veins.

 _No, I’m not -- I won’t live like that again_ , she thought, and looked at Leia a little wistfully. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d only known each other for a few hours. From that first glimpse of the hologram, she’d felt a . . . a _connection_ , a sense that their destinies were tied together, or should be. She wanted to stay, to be her friend.

It just wasn’t _enough._

“I know you don’t,” Leia was saying. “I can’t endure mundane tedium, myself, or sitting around aimlessly. I need more than tasks delivered from on high. I need to have a _purpose_ , to see that what I’m doing is important. You’re like that too, I can tell.” She took a deep breath, then released it. “It’s funny, I hardly know you, but it _seems_ \-- never mind. Just, I’d rather you stayed. But I understand if you can’t.”

“I have to think,” said Lucy, distracted. “But you have your meeting with all the . . . everyone, don’t you?”

“Yes. You can accompany me, if you’d like. General Dodonna is explaining our strategy to all the pilots.”

“Sure,” she said.

 

* * *

 

 

Afterwards, as the fighter pilots prepared for the attack, Lucy wandered over to a small isolated area, where Han and Chewbacca were loading boxes onto a speeder. She scowled.

“So . . . you got your reward and you’re just leaving them?” she demanded.

“That’s right,” said Han, his air of insouciance almost as impenetrable as when they’d first met. “I got some old debts I’ve got to pay off with this stuff. Even if I didn’t, you don’t think I’d be fool enough to stick around here?”

“I guess not,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You’re not like me. I talked to them and -- but you _could_ do something. You’re a great pilot and you could fly against the Death Star. You’re just --”

“Sane? Yeah, I guess so.” He dusted his hands off and turned to look at her, something odd in his expression. He seemed almost nervous. “Look, this place is doomed. You know that, I know that. Hell, even the princess knows that. They’ll never survive and there’s no place for you here anyway.”

“Thanks,” said Lucy. “That makes everything better.”

“I didn’t mean --” He cleared his throat. “Lucy, I . . . why don’t you come with me?”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open. Chewbacca, carrying one of the heavier boxes, dropped it on his foot. He howled in agony.

By the time he’d recovered enough that Lucy’s soft voice would even be audible, she’d turned a deep red. She didn’t seem able to meet his eyes.

“Han, I --” Her faltering voice sharpened. “Wait. Is _that_ why you were going on about how there’s no women in the Rebellion? You were just . . .” She gestured.

“Huh?” said Han brilliantly.

Chewbacca laughed.

“No!” he said. “I didn’t mean -- that is, I wasn’t -- unless -- no, just, I wasn’t -- I’m not propositioning you! _Hell_ , no.”

He flinched as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Lucy, I don’t -- ”

“If I am that repulsive,” she said, in a tone which would have done Leia proud, “what exactly were you asking?”

“You’re not --” Han rubbed his forehead, while Chewie snickered behind him. “You’re very -- you know, I’m not even going there. Just. It’s not that you’re repulsive, Lucy. It’s that you’re seventeen.”

Her flush receded, though she seemed barely mollified. “Leia’s seventeen,” she said sulkily.

“Really?”

She gave him an impatient look. “Yes. _Really._ And I still have no idea what you were talking about.”

“Well.” Han stepped back, folding his arms. “You’re pretty good in a fight, Lucy, and I trust you. I -- we could use you. I’ll teach you a few tricks of the trade, pay you a fair share of what we, ah, earn, the works.”

Lucy watched wistfully as the pilots rushing back and forth, droids beeping and engines rumbling. Then she gazed up at him.

“Would I get to fly?”

Han laughed. “Sure. But you damage the _Falcon_ and it comes out of your pay.”

She looked back at Leia, small and proud. Lucy didn’t like leaving her. But she wasn’t going to hide behind her skirts either.

Leia seemed to understand what was happening. She waved her hand in a clear gesture of farewell.

Lucy blinked back tears.

“All right,” she said, and held out her hand. “When do we leave?”

Han shook the hand, then slung his arm companionably about her shoulders. “As soon as we can. We’ll deliver the load to Jabba, and then . . .”

Their voices trailed off as they walked away.

Princess Leia watched them leave, her heart thudding against her ribs, fierce and painful. Her limbs ached and her gut burned and her throat almost closed. It wasn’t sentiment. Not mostly. She’d only felt this a few times in her life, but she knew exactly what it was.

Foreboding.

**Author's Note:**

> This story runs roughly parallel to _A New Hope_ and ignores almost everything that isn't in the movies or scripts. When it came to the characters' ages, I generally went with what we're told in the scripts, except for Luke/Lucy and Leia. I averaged theirs (eighteen and sixteen) out, instead.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [gold rush](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132457) by [bemire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemire/pseuds/bemire)




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